Gimme Shelter
by ForeverAnOwen
Summary: The war is going badly. The war is always going badly, and Castiel is in need of shelter. Destiel
1. Chapter 1

The rain had let up and the clouds had broken enough that a few slashes of starlight were allowed to pierce the night sky. Those few pinpricks of light did very little to light the long, winding stretch of highway, but that was fine with Dean, that's what headlights were for. He was driving far too fast to appreciate any of the misty Main woods around his car anyways.

He still had no clue why Sam had moved out here when it was all over, something about a teaching job, and returning to nature or some shit like that that Dean did not buy for a hot second. His brother was hiding from his old life after the whole Devil's Gate close shave, and Maine seemed as good a place as any to do that- not that Dean could blame Sam for wanting a change- but seriously, Maine? Sam had even gone so far as to say he had given up on hunting, Dean had laughed so hard at that he almost spit out his beer. So what if they had closed the Gate and finally killed the son of a bitch that killed their mom? There was still evil in the world and a boy scout like Sam would be one of the last people to turn his back on those in need. But Dean had let him go and quietly kept tabs on his kid brother, always pouring an extra shot for himself when he heard through the grapevine about some hunter up north taking out some dark beasty. Sam was still working his ass off, just with a secret identity as a mild mannered history teacher.

And Dean let him, and silently envied the almost quiet life that Sam had built for himself, in his little house with its little yard and his normal day job.

When stuff had stated getting strange a year back, Dean had taken to checking in on Sam less and less. Bobby said he heard rumors of a war, something big and final and apocalyptical, and even though Dean never saw any of it first hand, he saw the bizarre aftermath of the whole thing. He had spent months speeding from one coast to the next, chasing rumors and feeling like it was all some sort of Winchester trap. There was less and less to hunt every week, he had more dry spells than he knew what to do with, it was as if hell had been closed up and the mommy and daddy monsters had stopped getting it on. Bobby and Sam had both suggested that with whatever invisible war that was raging, maybe all the baddies just had better things to do than eat or torment humans. But Dean kept working, even if the pickings were slim.

Dean was in the midst of a Led Zeppelin drum solo against his steering wheel when three dear rushed out and almost caused Dean to swerve off the road. He was standing on the breaks, swearing at the stupid things that just stood there in the middle of the highway, watching him with their vacant eyes, only feet away from his front bumper.

"Damn it. Go! Get out of here!" Dean's heart was still pounding against his ribs, but the overall panic was quickly ebbing away in light of the lack of danger.

Then the deer did something strange, not nightmare inducing strange, just… well, Dean should have taken more note of their strange movements, or perhaps not been blasting Moby Dick, he might have heard the odd noise from the sky. But Dean did not, instead he watched all three deer suddenly tilt their heads to the treetops, wide black eyes following a movement in an ark, before running into the woods once more. Dean had just enough time to slip his foot from the break to the gas before the thing hit his car, coming out of the misty, damp night, sailing like a stone and slamming into the hood of the Impala with a wet crunch.

"Fuck!" He articulated smoothly as he fumbled for the sawed-off under the seat and rolled out of his wounded car. It was a human-ish projectile, but Dean's eyes could not seem to focus on the shape of it, there were legs and arms, pale skin and night dark blood shining black in a smear down his windshield but it kept blurring in his vision, like he was trying to see it though a vale of smoke. Dean knew what it was, knew it was part of that same strange aftermath that he had been facing down for months.

He half turned away, looking down the stretch of road as it twisted and wound away into the trees and there it was, in the corner of his eyes he could see them. Wings. It was another Angel.

Sometime after the first few rumors of the war reached Dean, the damn things had started falling from the sky. They had looked to be shooting stars at first and no one paid them any mind, but Rufus had found one in a vampire nest, filthy, broken and being used as food. It had died shortly after the hunter had arrived, burned up in a halo of white light and the only proof that it had ever even been was the story the man had passed on to Bobby.

Dean had not believed it for a moment. Not that he doubted that the man had seen _something_, but an Angel? Yeah right. It didn't matter that Rufus had sworn up and down that the thing had big feathered wings; it was just too strange to believe. That was until Dean had been in Vermont hunting down a little coven of witches and he saw one for himself.

They had the thing tied up in the basement and had been using parts of it for spell work. Dean had killed all eight witches. He was normally against killing humans, it just never sat right with him, but what they had done to the thing was torture and that made them into monsters in Dean's book. The Angel looked just like Rufus had describe to Bobby, basically human. This one had been a bit short, but very male and human looking in Dean's opinion- he thought it was human until he was helping the poor dude up the stairs, being mindful of the bits of missing skin and careful not to step on his feet which were practically bereft of toenails, when out of the corner of his eyes he had seen the damn wings. They sort of hid in the light, blurring in and out of existence like they did not belong here on Earth but had nowhere else to go. It had been a strange night all in all. Dean still remembered it with violent clarity, because it was not every day that you have your beliefs rocked down to their foundations, or share a bottle of cheep vodka in a motel room with an Angel.

Dean lowered his gun, turning back to face his car and the mess on the hood. He had stumbled across four Angels in the past year, tonight made five and only the first one had lived. Tonight was also not looking like it would not be swaying the odds at all in his favor. He rolled the thing over, wanting to get it off his car before it did its neat little burning up trick, but he stopped. With the mess of wings that he could not quite see out of the way he was able to actually get a good look at the person who had landed on his car. It was male, square jaw and dark hair that may or may not have been a true black, it was just too dark out to tell for sure, however, it was most definitely still very much alive. The Angel was watching Dean, his eyes lit up white with pain and adrenaline, gritting teeth that were painted in blood and he hissed out pained breaths that came to fast and shallow.

And then Dean noticed that the things arms were bound, tied tight together at the wrists with yellow zip ties. This one had not fallen from heaven like the last few that Dean had come across; it had not streaked through the sky like a dying star to burn out on impact. This one was like the first, this one had been kept by someone here on Earth but this one had escaped.

Dean fumbled out his cell phone, keeping an eye on the Angel and speed dialing with shaking hands. "Sammy, come on. Pick up." He breathed into his phone as it rang and rang.

"Hello?"

"Sam, I need you."

"How much have you had to drink tonight, Dean?" Sam's voice was chuckling down the line.

"I'm about ten minutes from your house, out on eastbound five- near mile marker… forty-eight? Yeah, forty-eight." He was squinting, peeking through the dim glow of his headlights.

"What's wrong?" Suddenly the humor was gone from his voice, replaced with concern.

"Found an Angel-"

"Another one?"

"I think it's running from someone, and the condition it's in? It can't have come too far, Sam. I need back up."

There was the jingle of keys over the line, Sam didn't have any more questions. "I'll be right there."

"Hurry." Dean hardly had a chance to slide his phone back into his pocket before a godless noise came from the forest behind him. "Shit, shit, shit." He pulled out his knife and slit the zip ties, not having an extra moment to spare to appreciate the fact that the Angel seemed to have passed into unconsciousness and thus spared from having to see someone with a knife come at him or hearing the growing sound that could best be described as pure evil. Dean hoisted the Angel awkwardly into his arms and slid him unceremoniously into the back seat of the Impala, closing the door, hoping that it would be enough to keep the thing safe until Sam arrived.

It burst through the trees, low fog fleeing from the splintering wood and pounding feet. Dean swallowed hard and took up a shooting stance, shotgun leveled on the creature. It might have been a bear, when he would later describe it to Sam, he would call it a bear, but it was only for lack of a more fitting title. It was covered in matted fur, boney spines rising like little bloodied tombstones to march down its hunched and quivering shoulders. It did not seem to have eyes, just empty sockets that oozed. Dean saw a flash of teeth, too many teeth, far too many teeth, grey and rotted, crooked with bits of putrid flesh hanging between them. And Dean fired. He fired at the thing's face until the shotgun clicked empty and the thing did not stop coming. One massive paw like foot came for his face and someone was yelling his name and then there was nothing.

Dean woke from the pain, it was a unique way to come back to himself, agony opening him up like a white-hot collapsing star. He opened his eyes, wincing at the bright light around him. For a moment there was nothing other than the light and pain, but then he was remembering things in bits and pieces, stray flip-book pages that did not match up.

There was a whining sound, high pitched, but fading into a buzz that started to form a word, and surprisingly, the word was his name.

"Dean! Damn it, Dean, wake up." Rough hands found his shoulders and the pain intensified, but the blinding light dimmed enough to let him look up into his brother's face.

"The bear." Dean's voice was weak and threaded with pain. "Look out for the bear."

"What bear?" Hands were smoothing over his forehead, fingers probing and it was too much. Something was very wrong and Dean had just enough strength to turn his head to the side before vomiting up something that resembled his late dinner. "I think you might have a concussion." Sam sounded so sure of himself, Dean almost wished that he had not turned away. He hated when his brother got all high and mighty with the medical proclamations.

"The Angel," he spit out, "is it ok?"

"I think so- come on, let's get you off the road." And Sam was lifting him like a doll and Dean felt his stomach roll again, this time he did not miss and simply dry heaved against his brother's shoulder. "Come on, man. Keep it together." He said almost gently as Dean was settled into the back of Sam's Toyota Highlander.

"Don't let the bear get the Angel." Dean muttered and sank down between the front and back seats where feet were supposed to go. Everything hurt, but he did not seem to have enough adrenaline left to power through the pain and help his brother.

"Yeah…" and Sam shot him a strange look then left into the night that had opened up into a gentle sprinkling of rain that made the most pleasant sort of white noise to accompany the pounding in Dean's head. He felt himself slipping off the steep cliff of consciousness, the dark coming up to meet him, but there was yelling and the sound would not allow him to take that last clumsy step.

"Sam?" Fear was there, just under the surface, just enough to keep him awake for a moment. "Sam?!"

"He doesn't seem to like me." Sam's shaggy head peeked around the open car door.

"I- I don't fucking _care_. We can't leave it out here." His eyes did not want to stay open.

"Stay awake, Dean." Concern left deep creases on Sam's face, making him look much older than he was, and for some reason that was funny to Dean, so he smiled and agreed.

It was an easy promise to keep, as it turned out. The Angel really did seem to have something against Sam and fought him the whole way to the car and continued to rage against him while the younger Winchester tried to fold the creature into the backseat beside Dean. The Angel suddenly caught sight of Dean, slumped in the back and lunged at him. There was a short and awkward moment where Dean assumed that he was under the most feeble attack of his life, but then the creature was huddled against him, the blur of his wings beating franticly against the seats and ceiling, leaving dark smears of blood on the upholstery. The thing was protecting Dean, using the broken mess of its wings to try and keep Sam at bay.

"Dean? Can you tuck those things in somehow? I won't be able to drive with him doing that." Sam's voice sounded distant, and Dean knew that he was slipping away again, despite the weight clinging to his chest and the surprisingly feral sounds coming from it.

"Sure, Sammy." And he clumsily smoothed his hands over the broken wings, feeling bile rising in his throat at the sticky slickness of them. It was like petting a skinned animal, but the Angel stilled, staccato breath making blood bubble from his narrow nose. He swallowed thickly, his thin body thrumming with tension, never taking his eyes from Sam. Dean could see in the sickly white dome light that those eyes were a deep crystalline blue; distantly he decided that they were lovely, but quite inhuman.

"Keep him down, we don't both need concussions tonight." Sam warily eyed the mess of wings one last time before closing the door and walking around to the driver's side.

"You got it." Dean murmured into the Angel's damp hair, tasting a hint of rain on his lips.

"And don't fall asleep." Sam reminded as the engine growled to life.

"Yep." He breathed, watching as the Angel's profile flickered in his vision. The thing was still perched atop him, clinging to him protectively, never taking his eyes from the back of Sam's head. It was laughable to think that the defeated, beaten thing was trying to protect him against Sam of all people. The thought coaxed a little smile to Dean's chapped lips and he let his head fall back against the door with a soft thump, the darkness taking him once more.


	2. Chapter 2

"Dean? Fuck- Dean! Wake up or I'm gunna have to shoot him or something."

Dean stirred, fighting against the warm dark that had cocooned him in a safe embrace, somewhere far from hunts gone bad and mild concussions or belligerent younger brothers.

"Stop it. I don't want to shoot an Angel." Sam's voice almost sounded amused. Frustrated, scared and definitely tired- but amusement had wormed its way in somehow.

Surfacing from sleep was like trying to pull himself from under a wreckage of hurt, each stir of muscle brought a new spike of pain, a half remembered bone fracture or purpling bruise. He forced his eyes open and almost laughed, but it came out as a strangled, aborted sort of sound. Sam was angrily standing outside Dean's open door, hands up in a placating fashion and somehow the Angel had managed to free one of the seat belts, swinging it like a mace above his head. From the red welt on Sam's left wrist, it made for a decent weapon. Dean also took slight note of the fact that they seemed to have arrived in Sam's garage, the Highlander parked and sheltered under a florescent light that bathed them all in a bluish glow.

"Hey." The word clicked in his throat, catching dry and painful. He tried again. "Hey."

They both looked at him, Sam waring an expression of relief and the Angel with one of holy defiance.

"He won't let me near you." Sam explained simply, cradling his hurt wrist against his chest.

"Yeah?" He struggled to find his voice, pushing himself up to his elbows, muscles shaking in protest. "Can't say I blame him, Sasquatch." It was not much of a joke, but he made himself smile, so mission accomplished? He raised one hand and gently took hold of the other end of the seatbelt. "Come on, dude, put it down. No one's gunna hurt ya."

And shockingly, that is when the Angel decided to start talking. At least, Dean thought he did, though if they were really words, they were unlike any he had ever heard before. It was a bit like the trilling of bells, if bells were loud enough to shatter eardrums and send spider web cracks though the Highlander's safety glass windows. It was beautiful and painful and Dean was fairly sure he might be deaf. And then it stopped and both Dean and Sam were covering their ears and there was no sound other than a distant ringing that seemed to come from somewhere near Dean's temples, vibrating down the line of his jaw and thrumming all the way down through his ribs. He felt like a tuning fork and it was far from pleasant.

Dean thought he might be sick again, but then the Angel was putting a hand on his cheek and it was cool to the touch, soft and strangely soothing despite the scratch of dried blood between them. The ringing faded and so did the wave of nausea. The Angel swayed dangerously, dark eyes rolling back in its head and just like that it collapsed against Dean's chest in a heavy thud, forcing out a painful breath from his lungs. The seatbelt clattered to the concrete outside the vehicle and it was the only sound for a long, fragile moment.

"Sammy? You ok?" Dean craned his neck, trying to see his brother outside the opened door, crouched on the ground, cowering with his hands tightly pressed over his ears. "Sam, it's asleep. Come on, get up. Get it off me."

Sam did not seem able to hear him and Dean was on his own. " 'M too fucking hurt for this." He struggled to roll the limp Angel off of him and slid unceremoniously out of the Highlander, landing with a whomp on the hard ground. A concussion and a few busted ribs was not enough for one night, he needed a bruised tailbone as well.

"He'll be fine in a bit. He's just wound up."

Dean reeled, looking towards the hood of the car, and at first, he could not recognize the man who stood there. He was short, with golden hair cut similarly to Sam's, pushed carelessly back from his high forehead, keeping his bright eyes clear. He was watching Dean with a glint in his eyes, a slow smile starting as if it was all he could do to keep from grinning, but it was not a grin when it finally broke, it was more of a smirk than anything else.

Dean recognized him.

It was the first Angel he had found, the one kept by the coven. After a year of convalescing he hardly looked like the same man, but that damnable smirk was unmistakable. When Dean had saved him, they had gone back to his hotel, and there Dean had patched him up with disinfectant and a needle threaded with floss. Dean had made jokes, he could not just sit there silently while sewing an Angel back together, so he rattled on with some of the most inane anecdotes he knew, the whole while sure that the thing he was stitching up could not understand a word he was saying. The Angel never spoke other than soft grunts of pain from time to time, or short hisses of breath between gritted teeth, but every time Dean looked at its face, it was smirking at him. Just a cocky little half smile like they were sharing some sort of secret.

He walked around the car, dressed in sneakers and jeans and a red button up that looked too large for him and placed a quiet hand in Sam's hair and the hunter relaxed, lowering his hands and blinking wildly.

"You should have just let me come with you, kido." The Angel said, still smiling. "Even half dead and with his grace ripped out he could probably still take both you clowns."

"We're alright, Gabe." Sam said softly, standing on shaking legs.

"You named it?" Dean was incredulous.

"He named himself." Sam offered out a hand to help his brother up.

"Whatever, dude." He stood and rubbed at his head, wincing in pain and regretting both movements. "Why is it even here? You agreed to keep an eye on it until it was better." He looked sidelong at the creature standing off to the side, peering into the backseat curiously. "You told me you found a home for it, somewhere safe and out of the way where- Sam. Sam, no." Dean groaned. "This isn't like some lost puppy, or a bird with a broken wing or something. You can't just keep stray Angels."

"Dean, your head is still bleeding and there is a homicidal Angel passed out in my car. Can we talk about this later… please."

It was the please that got him. The brothers 'pleased' each other with sincerity so rarely it ended up carrying at least twice the weight of a normal supplication.

"Yeah, yeah. Fine." Dean waved it aside, he wasn't up to the argument right at that moment anyways. He stumbled into the house, head spinning and feet dragging, leaving his brother and the pipsqueak Angel carry the larger, broken one inside.

Sam's house looked a lot like Dean remembered it from last time he had visited, freakishly clean with piles of books being the only disruption to the sparse landscape, books and cake. The cake was new. It was pink and coconut covered and half eaten. It was a big hideous blob of junk food on the coffee table flanked with one bottle of beer and one of peppermint schnapps. Dean lowered himself to the recliner, smiling at the knowledge that his clothes were filthy. He took the beer and it was warm, but still drinkable.

Sam and the blonde Angel called Gabe slunk into the room, carrying the second Angel between them, its long black wings dragging on the floor, leaving weak smears on the hardwood. "How's it doing?" Dean sucked down a mouthful of tepid alcohol.

"He's doing better than I was when you found me, Deano." The short Angel winked over his shoulder as he helped to maneuver the long limbed creature to the couch.

"Deano?" Dean snorted into the bottle. "I liked you better when you didn't talk, shortstack."

Sam sighed and left for a second to snag the first aid kit, sitting down on the edge of the coffee table and looking pointedly at Dean. "Put the bottle down."

"Yes, doctor." He said with a sigh and settled the thing down with a clank, leaning forward so Sam could poke at him.

And Sam did his worst, manhandling the cracked ribs, scrubbing iodine on the head gash and peeking into his eyes with a pen light to see if they could still dilate. "Was it a car accident?"

"What?" Dean hissed when he saw Sam getting out the floss. "Dude, it was like this demon… bear thing. It took a round of buck shot to the face and curb stomped my sorry ass- it-" Sam had started sewing and Dean's stomach did a neat little flip. It did not seem to matter how many times he had gone through this very same sort of medical emergency with his brother, it never got easier to see a needle coming at your face. "Then it just left or something."

"Looked like a car accident."

"Don't say things like that, you'll jinx it or something." He closed his eyes, counting the stitches as they were made.

"Hood dented, you spilled out on the pavement-"

"Angel refugee meteor and giant demon bear bitchslap. My baby's just fine. Don't you talk about her like that."

"I'm assuming that it's the pain, head injury, or invisible monster that messed up your memory of it- but the Impala is going to need some serious body work. Now hold this tight and don't fall asleep again." Sam shoved a bit of gauze against Dean's head and scooted to the other side of the table to tend to the mess on his couch.

"It wasn't invisible." Dean sulked. His head was pounding and that ache at the base of his spine that he had been trying to ignore had worsened. "I must have scared it off."

"Punching bags are a bit scary." The little Angel said around a mouthful of frosting.

"When the floor stops falling away I'm gunna' come over there and shove your little face into that pretty pink cake."

"You could at least buy me a drink first, cowboy." He said around a second finger full of frosting.

"Stop flirting and help me clean him up." Sam was smiling for some reason, and the little Angle simply saluted and did as he was told. It made Dean uneasy on at least three levels.

Dean watched the two working for a while in silence, wishing he had some vicodin, but knowing Sam probably would not give him any until they were sure he would not simply slip off into a coma. "So, what's up with this guy?"

Gabe did not even look up from where he was gently scrubbing away at a patch of blood that was not quite the right color. "Looks like a broken ulna, dislocated shoulder, maybe some internal bleeding-"

"No, I mean what's he got against Sam?"

Sam glanced up at that, looking a bit curious as well.

"Oh, that's just the demon blood." Gabe shrugged liquidly. "Once Cassy's feeling a bit better he'll come around, realize Sam's not one of them."

Sam frowned but returned to his best efforts of wrestling the thing's shoulder back into its socket.

"Cassy?" Dean leaned forward in his chair, resting elbows on his knees, making a face. "You know him or do you just go around giving everyone stupid names?"

"Sure I know him. He's my brother."

The shoulder finally slid into place with a sickening, moist pop and Sam sighed in relief. "Your brother? Like you came from the same litter or as in 'we are all god's children?' "

Dean could not see Sam's face but he could hear the doubt in his words.

Gabe shrugged again, his movements slowing down a bit. "Either way?" He offered in way of an answer. "Angel's don't reproduce like you guys, so I doubt it would make much sense even if I tried to explain. Castiel's just… he's just my little brother. He's a good kid too." And Gabe was really smiling then, just for a moment, something warm and admirable and fleeting.

"Is he always so violent?" Sam was wiping his hands on his jeans and packing back up the first aid kit. There had been some small, superficial cuts, but all in all, the damage was not nearly as bad as it first looked. He was dressed in dark slacks and a once white buttondown that they had had to sort of cut off of him because slipping over his swollen shoulder just seemed mean. The blood had been cleaned away from his face and neck and arms, leaving him pale other than the myriad of colors blossoming over his rib cage, wrists, and his split lower lip. Settled into Sam's couch he looked so small, and defenseless, like a child. All the fight he had shown after his fall vanished from him in the peaceful throws of sleep.

"He's a good soldier." Gabe explained with another shrug. "Took over his own garrison around the time I fell, but honestly? We all just do what we have to." And Gabe was grinning again, all sloppy and confident. "Most days he's as gentle as a lamb at Sunday dinner."

"Yeah, well, if it's all the same, I think I'll keep my distance until he calms down a bit and you can explain to him that I'm not part of your war." Sam stood and stretched, holding a hand out to Dean. "Keys?"

Right. The Impala. Dean could not just leave his baby in the middle of nowhere Main on the side of the highway. "I'll come with and drive her back."

"You can't even walk straight." Sam explained carefully, like speaking to a child. "I'll take Gabe- AND he will drive the Toyota back." He added the last quickly upon seeing the look of panic crashing over Dean.

"Can Angels even drive?" Today was starting to finally feel a bit too much.

"This one can, big boy. Gigantor taught me last month." Gabe was grinning again, carefully laying a blanket over his sleeping brother. "Now you two play nice while we're out."

Reluctantly, Dean handed his keys to Sam. "Don't let that thing touch my baby."

"And you stay awake." Sam traded the keys for the tv remote.

"And you look out for bears." Dean awkwardly held the controller and slouched down in his chair.

"Right." And Sam gave him a gentle smile, the kind that meant 'be safe' and 'I'm worried about you' and a slew of other things that did not need to be voiced because they both knew the words by heart.

Dean watched them go and closed his eyes almost the same instant he heard the garage door close. He fought back the tired feeling, fairly sure that he would be alright for a while. His fingers felt a bit numb as they dug into the buttons on the remote, but that was probably just the last dregs of shock and nothing new to worry about.

He found some infomercial for stick-on plastic jewels that went on lady bits, it was absurd, but there were some decent looking chicks showing of as much skin as was acceptable for late night cable, and that was just fine with Dean. He watched in silence, letting his eyes settle at half-mast and smiling occasionally.

That was, until he got an itch. Not a normal one that can be scratched, but the kind that starts somewhere at the back of your head and creeps over you with something akin to a chill. It was the kind that let you know someone was watching you. Dean took a slow, even breath and darted his eyes to the couch, jumping slightly in his seat.

The Angel was awake, or sleeping with its eyes open- either way it was a bit intense. Dean had never seen eyes so blue on a person before; they were like looking into the sea during a storm, just as deep and twice as treacherous. It felt like falling, or drowning or something more poetic that Dean could not voice because he had never been that smooth with his words.

"Hey." And if Dean's voice trembled just a bit it did not mean anything more than that he was tired.

The Angel blinked those depthless eyes and Dean took it as a hello.

"You feeling alright? I mean, all cuts and scrapes and impact fractures aside?"

Another blink, this one followed by and bit of an overall muscle twitch and it was trying to roll itself over onto its stomach.

Dean rallied himself to his feet, staggered over to the couch and helped the gentle barrel roll, then made a perfunctory check over the thing's band aids and bits of tapped gauze. He adjusted the blankets and winced when he felt the slick squelch of its wings under his hand. The Angel looked just as pleased by the touch, flinching hard and making a sound a bit like a whimper.

"Sorry, dude." Dean whispered for no reason other than it felt wrong to speak at full volume so close to the poor broken thing. He wished that he could actually see the wings instead of the half remembered blur of shadows beyond the edge of his vision. "Don't move, ok?" And Dean struggled back to his feet and went to the kitchen, filling a pot with water and grabbing the roll of paper towels.

Cleaning the wings took longer than Dean had expected, partially because he could not easily see them and had to rely mostly on touch, partially because the Angel kept wincing and shying away, but mostly because they were just so damn big.

Sam came back before Dean had finished cleaning the first one.

"The rain washed most of the blood off we can have her towed to a shop in the morning if you want, but she's driving well enough you could probably make it to Bobby's." Sam tossed a set of keys on the table and settled down into the vacated recliner, picking up the forgotten beer from the floor. "What are you doing?"

"I've taken up basket weaving, what does it look like?" Dean muttered and placed a handful of soggy, loose feathers on the table. He had a neat little pile going beside him and for some reason it was fairly amusing that once detached, the long black feathers were quite visible. Though soaked in congealing blood they hardly resembled feathers and looked much more like a bunch of dead, soggy caterpillars, or again, something slightly more poetic- the head injury really was making it hard for him to come up with good analogies.

"How can you see what you're doing?"

"I can't, but it needs to be done and he's not up to it." Dean rolled his shoulders, "If you're gunna just sit there and watch I'll have to charge you."

Sam tossed back the last of the beer and stood, stealing the pot of dirty water and going into the kitchen.

"Where's your puppy?" Dean called over his shoulder, smoothing his hands down to the base of the first wing, satisfied with the work so far. The Angel on the other hand looked far from pleased. Even when Sam came in and sat down, Castiel had not looked away from Dean, he was transfixed, like he was stuck with his brights on. He was pale and trembling, his eyes wide and showing far too much white, but he had stopped whimpering and trying to get away, so it seemed that he had finally come to terms with the fact that Dean was going to help him. Whether or not the help was wanted.

"Gabe. His name is Gabe, and he's in the garage getting his brother's blood off the upholstery of my car."

"Are we going to talk about the fact that you are keeping a pet Angel?"

Sam set the pot back down beside Dean, full of clean water, and held out a cold beer. "He's not a pet. He's… more like a roommate."

Dean took the beer, still gently petting the clean wing, marveling at how soft the parts that weren't injured could be. "Roommates are typically human." He reminded.

"I don't remember that one from the roommate rulebook." Sam said and picked up the pile of filthy paper towels and went back to the kitchen. "He's a good friend, Dean. Just leave it alone."

He scoffed at his brother and started in on cleaning the second wing. "You want me to leave it alone? You've been living with a dude for a year and lying to me about it. This seems like one of those things we actually should talk about."

"You wanna hug it out? Geeze, Dean, you must have hit your head harder than I thought." And Sam was smiling, just a little as he sat back down on the recliner.

"Bite me." And maybe he was a little less gentle than he should have been with his handful of broken wing because Castiel was suddenly whimpering again, his eyes finally closed and a traumatized look on his pale face. "Sorry, dude." And Dean had lost count of how many times he had whispered those two words.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Gabe had come in through the kitchen and wore a purely indescribable look on his face.

"Since when has triage become so mysterious to you guys?" Dean looked over in exasperation. "And are Angels even allowed to swear?"

"They are when they catch an ape molesting their baby brother."

And Dean's hands were up in surrender so fast his wrists hurt. "What?" But Gabe did not answer, just stalked over on his short legs and roughly shoved Dean out of the way. The other Angel did not seem to take much notice of the change at first, but the longer his wings remained untouched the more he relaxed, until those eyes opened again. He looked up at his older brother, confusing settling over his delicate features. It was a blank, endearing sort of expression that would have been funny if Dean was not staring in growing discomfort between his own hands and the shifting black mess of wings that he had been basically petting for almost half an hour. Had he crossed over some angelic boundary? Were wings a kind of Angel taboo? Dean really hoped not. He did not want to consider the ramifications of feeling up an injured Angel, especially a male one.

Gabe had started talking in whatever weirdo angelic language that presumably, both he and his brother knew and the words did not seem like anything that should be allowed to be made by human larynges. It was all soft breath and distant thunder and the frantic beating of bird's wings. And for some strange reason it made Dean want to cry. He didn't of course, it did not matter how bad a night he was having.

Still trying to shake off the horror of what he may or may not have just done to the hurt Angel; Dean almost missed the thing sitting up. It was all jerky and stiff movements, joints cracking and punctuated with soft grunts of pain. No one offered to help him, he really looked determined to do it on his own. He did not speak to Gabe, but swayed where he sat, looking to be struggling to find his bearings.

Once he settled, he looked around the room, seemingly for the first time, his eyes flicking over Sam and the furniture with equal interest. He paused only a moment on Dean, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly and the corners of his lips tightening. But then he was looking elsewhere, at the tv that was still running, the remnant of the pink, fluffy cake, the drops of condensation forming on the neck of Dean's undrunken beer. The whole while Gabe was still talking, possibly in greeting, but maybe explaining things, maybe even asking how the war had been going. Dean could only guess.

Castiel took a rusty sounding breath, turning his head to look at his brother. He watched him for a few drawn out moments, blinking slowly from time to time, and then he suddenly punched the shorter man square in the jaw, rocking him back on the little table.

An extremely dense silence came into being. Dean had a hand halfway to his knife, Sam was almost out of his chair and Gabe was staring wide eyes and stricken at the other Angel. Then Castiel was lowering himself back down onto the couch, letting out two words that rattled the windows, and he closed his dark eyes again, settling himself in a determined way that looked like he wanted to be left alone.

Gabe started laughing, rubbing his jaw and grinning wildly.

"What the hell just happened?" Dean asked a little too loudly, ears still ringing.

"Cassy doesn't know how to use his inside voice yet. But he's feeling better."

"Are you alright?" Sam came out of his chair, resting a hand on the little Angel's shoulder in an oddly intimate way that Dean would have brought into question immediately if it wasn't for the collection of other strange little moments from that evening that made little to no sense whatsoever.

"Don't worry about it, kido. He hits like a girl." But there was already a bluish bruise forming despite his grin or words of reassurance. "He just needs a bit more sleep." The smile faded a bit as he stood, turning to Dean. "And you- try to keep it in your pants, ok?"

Dean just stared down at the shorter man blankly, so stunned by the suggestion that he was at a loss for words. It was a highly uncommon state to find Dean in, to be honest. One that Sam decided to take quick advantage of before his brother came back around and started swinging.

"It's almost four. The sun will be up in a few hours." He took Dean by the shoulders, gently steering him down the hall towards the back of the house. "I know how much you hate sunrises." They paused at the bathroom and Sam fished out two vicodin from the medicine cabinet before leading Dean to the little spare bedroom. It wasn't much, a few more piles of books, a computer sitting on a clean IKEA desk and one of those blue futon/couch things that folds open to be an uncomfortable bed. "There're blankets in the closet and I'll bring your duffle in from the Impala."

Dean stood there looking up at Sam, having to crane his neck far more than he remembered, and for a moment really missing when they were kids and he was the taller one. "Today- it's been a real weird day, Sammy."

Smiling, Sam nodded. "Next time, call ahead. We'll have a barbecue instead." It was a gentle promise that sounded absolutely wonderful right then. "Get some sleep."

Most of the time, being bossed around by his kid brother, really wound Dean up, but not tonight. He shoved the vicodin into the back of his throat and swallowed, grinning. "Yes, doctor."


	3. Chapter 3

Dean woke with a set of honey gold eyes looking into his own, and he was the first to blink, clumsily rubbing sleep from his eyes and sitting up. There was some awful noise ringing in his ears and when he finally stopped rubbing and looked around the room he found its source. Gabe was sitting on the edge of the futon, singing cheerfully.

"Here comes the sun, and I say it's all right, little darling." He was smiling too cheerfully and bouncing slightly in time to the rhythm. "The smiles returning to the faces, little darling. It seems like years since-"

"No." Dean growled, effectively cutting off the strange musical morning interlude.

"You don't like the Beatles?" He raised one eyebrow quizzically. The Angel was in different clothes from the night before, kakis and what looked suspiciously like one of Sam's flannels. "Because I could sing 'Oh What a Beautiful Morning', if you like show tunes better."

"The Beatles _are_ over rated- but mostly you just sound like a dying cat." Dean ran his hands over his face, hiding a smile at the slightly grumpy look he was getting from the short Angel. "What's for breakfast and how's your brother doin'?" His mind was a bit sluggish first thing in the morning, but he knew enough to remember that it was a week day and Sam would probably be at work, so he skipped to the second and third most important questions he had.

"Breakfast was chocolate chip pancakes and strawberry milk. Breakfast was also about six hours ago. Lunch is peanut butter and honey sandwiches, yours is in the fridge." He drew his knees up on the bed and looked quite comfortable, despite the fact that Dean, just in boxers and an undershirt and really not ok with dudes in his bed, was edging away from him and drawing the blankets up into his lap. "Cassy's awake and watching Sesame Street. I figured that PBS would be the best sort of crash course to human behavior, since he's never been to Earth before." And that shit eating grin was right back on his face. "Though, he might be a bit heartbroken when he finds out that Cookie Monster isn't real. He's taken a bit of a liking to Muppets."

"Sam always liked that old man who would change his sweater and shoes every god damn time he came in the house." Dean rubbed his mouth, debating if his stomach was ready for a peanut and honey sandwich. "Always singing about loving your neighbor and shit like that."

"He talks about you all the time- Sam, not Mister Rogers." Gabe chuckled softly. "And I got to say, after last night, and now seeing you in your full morning splendor, I'm not disappointed."

"Just what the hell's that supposed to mean?" It was too early for whatever was happening, and Dean didn't like it.

"That the man lives up to the legend." Gabe bounded off the bed, standing and looking down at Dean with the same self satisfied expression plastered over his face. "You want a beer with your sandwich or milk, cowboy?"

Dean just made a face. He liked beer most of the time, but on an empty stomach right after waking up was a bit much. What he needed was a coffee. "I'll figure it out on my own."

"Pfft, I wasn't offering to get one for you. I was just going to say that we don't have either, so don't get your hopes up."

"Yeah… thanks for that." Dean frowned after the strange little man, watching him go and making sure he was gone before rolling out of bed with a groan and grabbed a semi clean pair of pants and shirt from his duffle bag, heading into the bathroom for a shower.

His reflection was a bit disappointing, aside from needing a bit of a shave, he had a purplish bruise spreading out from his left temple where the seven careful stitches from the night before stood out painfully. His eyes weren't much better, head injuries always promised the nastiest sort of raccoon eyes the next day- and these were some of the worst Dean had ever had. The pale green of his eyes stood out like bits of glass in the dark, thumbprint like smudges around his sockets.

He looked like hell.

He felt like hell.

He stripped down and got in the shower, being careful of the road rash on the back of his left hand and wrist. He hadn't noticed it the night before and now it throbbed, angry and red under the hot water. He cleaned quickly and got dressed, wincing at the pain in his ribs. Today felt like it was going to be very long.

Dean stole a vicodin from Sam's stash and padded into the kitchen, opening the fridge and casting about for the promised sandwich, all his movements haltingly careful and pained, compensating for the splintered ribs.

There was no sandwich to speak of.

"Hey, what gives?"

Gabe, sitting on the couch beside his brother, basking in the warm glow of children's public broadcasting, looked over. " 'Sup, cowboy?"

"Stop calling me that." He frowned, closing the fridge. "Where's my sandwich?"

"Oh, I ate it. You were taking too long."

Dean took a slow breath through his nose let it out in a soft growl. There was a tupperware that looked like it held something with potatoes and cheese so perhaps all was not lost. "You know, I'd never really met an Angel before, and I left you here with Sammy before you learned to speak." He took a fork from the dishwasher and came into the living room, lowering himself gingerly to the recliner. "So with you as my only example, I'm beginning to think Angels might just be dicks."

Gabe winked at him, but otherwise did not validate the insult with a response.

Dean ate his cold potatoes and they weren't half bad. Sesame Street seemed to have ended, to be replaced with Clifford the Big Red Dog, and really, it was awful. Couldn't they watch reality TV or the History channel or something less… annoying? He was about to grab up the remote and look for something different, but then he caught sight of Castiel.

Since coming out of the shower, Dean hadn't so much as looked at the quiet Angel, but now, so close, it was hard not to. Someone had cleaned him up a bit more, dressed him in what Dean easily recognized as his Gun's N'roses 'appetite for destruction' t-shirt that had gone missing two years back and blue jeans that were far too long in the leg (so most likely stolen from Sam). He was hunkered forward, elbows on his knees and bright eyes fixated on the flashing colors dancing over the screen. The expression on his face was one of wonder and amazement, like he was witness to something far more life changingly beautiful than a dim witted bull dog learning a lesson about sharing.

In the warm afternoon sunlight, and head trauma aside, those eyes fixated on the television were still the most amazing blue that Dean had ever seen. It was unnatural. No human had eyes that blue, he was sure of it. Well, Castiel was not human, so perhaps it stood to reason that he would not look altogether human. But still.

"Put your eyes back in, cowboy." Gabe's voice was stern, but there was a hint of amusement laced in there somewhere.

Dean blinked, realizing very quickly that he had been staring and turned slightly to glower at the little Angel. "Seriously, enough with the 'cowboy'."

"I asked Sam once, if he had always wanted to teach. He said no. When he was a little kid he had wanted to be a farmer."

This was not exactly news to Dean, (it happened when they were passing through Illinois when they were kids and Sam saw all those fields stretching on for miles and he knew that those men did not run from coast to coast chasing the sun, but stayed in one place- probably for their whole lives- and Sam saw an out from their nomadic lifestyle) but it also was completely non sequitur so Dean frowned and waited impatiently for the little man to finish.

"I asked if his big brother wanted to be a farmer too and he laughed and told me you wanted to be Batman, but barring that, you would have been a cowboy." His eyes were dancing. "Would you rather I call you Batman?"

Dean felt the corners of his mouth twitch as he bit down a smile.

"Because I can call you Batman if you like."

It made Dean chuckle, and that hurt his ribs, but it was worth it. Why couldn't he find a chick willing to call him Batman? He would marry a girl like that. It was a shame that the offer was from a short little dude that wasn't even human. "Just Dean."

"You got it, Dean-o."

They shared a comfortable silence, Dean finishing off the potatoes and the Angels watching cartoon dogs learning vital life lessons.

"So, when's he going to learn to talk without breaking the sound barrier?" Dean nodded to Castiel who did not so much as blink.

"I picked it up a few days after I fell, English isn't exactly complicated." Gabe stretched, pulling a Snickers bar out form who knows where and tearing open the wrapper with his teeth. "Cassy, just fell last night. You got to give him a few days to get onboard."

Dean tossed his empty Tupperware onto the coffee table and folded his hands over his stomach. "I don't think he fell last night."

"No?" Gabe asked around a mouthful of chocolate goodness.

"No. He wasn't a shooting star from heaven, I think he was running away from someone. Slammed into a few trees and they knocked his wings out from under him or something." Dean watched the man he was talking about and it was like the Angel was deaf. There was no flicker of recognition, no inclination that he even knew they were in the room with him. "His hands were tied and he was being chased."

"Chased?" Gabe's eyes were suddenly focused, the candy held limp, forgotten.

"Yeah… I mean, I told Sam about it last night. That bear thing."

Gabe frowned. "The bear that just vanished after slapping you around?"

"Hey, I don't know why- I just know what I saw." But Dean was frowning now too. He would swear on a stack of motel bibles if need be, he could still remember the rotten reek of the thing's breath as it bore down on him, he knew what he saw. Still, a creature like that, with its big meaty paws, would be hard pressed to ziptie someone's hands together. Something was not meshing quite right. "Someone caught him and he escaped." At the very least, Dean was sure of that much.

"Well…" Gabe frowned, a little crease forming between his eyebrows. "We can ask him about it when he starts talking… whenever that is." And he stood to his full, diminutive height, affectionately ruffling a hand through his brother's hair. "I'm going to pick Sammy up from school." And he tilted his brother's head up to him, making eye contact and making sure that he had the other man's attention. "Don't let Dean take the t.v. away from you. And don't let him get all handsy again, he's too young for you."

Dean scowled, bearing his teeth just a bit. He was not in the least bit interested in the Angel, sterling blue eyes or not. However, before he could lay into Gabe about the insinuation of any impropriety towards the younger Angel, the older brother started talking again.

"And you-" he directed all his golden warmth at Dean and it was almost suffocating. "If there _is_ anything after my brother, keep him safe. He's only got a few drops of Grace left, not even enough to fend off a determined kitten." It was said jokingly, but there was an intensity to his expression and an unwarranted trust in his tone. And then he was grinning again and grabbing up a set of car keys from the table. "And I know he's pretty, but keep your hands to yourself this time, cowboy."

Dean was left alone with the dark haired Angel with just the sound of public broadcasting to keep them company. It did not take long for Dean to spot the controller on the couch beside said Angel and snatch it up. It was sort of cute to watch the dawning expression of confusion on the creature's face when Clifford vanished to be replaced with Sigourney Weaver being accosted by an android. Dean fucking loved Alien. He had seen the movie possibly over a hundred times. Motels across the states that could not boast better than basic cable still loved midnight runs of classic horror flicks almost as much as Dean did. He was so caught up in watching her mane of hair bouncing about that he almost missed the plaintive expression on the Angel's face.

Almost.

Those bright eyes of his had gone wide and he turned in his seat to look at Dean, his mouth working soundlessly, only letting out soft puffs of air.

"Hey- you gunna talk again?" Dean was already leaning away as much as his chair would allow, his hands coming up to preemptively cover his ears. Not that it would help much at this close of a range.

"You- he said not to let you…" and he choked off, coughing softly and clearing his throat. It was not the booming voice like the night before, no glass rattled, no eardrums bled, but his voice was low and rough and it sounded like he had been gargling with broken glass.

It did something funny to Dean. He had not thought about what the Angel's voice would sound like when he finally found it- but the graveled sound did not match the soft and confused face he wore.

"The t.v., Gabriel said not to let you."

Dean just blinked vacantly. There were words being said, and they were directed at him, but he would be damned if he could make any sense of them. All he could hear was the rumble of the thing's voice, the sound settling somewhere in his chest and maybe a bit lower. Dean was consumed with the almost overwhelming want to rest his head against the thing's ribcage and feel the rumblings against his cheek.

"Put the dog show back." The words were coming easier to him, though he still spoke in a broken whisper, almost as if he were afraid to try anything more.

Dean was still struggling to bring his brain up to speed and respond to the things being said to him.

The Angel looked annoyed. It was a slight expression, just a narrowing of his eyes and a downward curve of his lips.

"Oh- right." The words finally clicked, it was like a switch had been thrown and Dean could move and think again. He changed the channel and they were able to catch the thrilling conclusion of Clifford the Big Red Dog. Well, Castiel did, Dean found that the bright colors and high voices could not hold his attention and he kept drifting his gaze back to the Angel. It was still perched on the edge of the couch, leaning into the show, face shining with wonder. His narrow back was arched forward, the barest impression of wings spilling from his shoulders to lie at unnatural angles over the back of the couch. Dean had to screw his eyes up a bit to be sure, but the two feathery limbs still looked fairly damaged. He wanted to touch them again, to feel out the injury, but he remembered how mad Gabe had been and how upset Castiel had looked. Even as Dean watched, the shadow cast by the dark feathers twitched erratically, spasming and resettling in unpleasant ways.

Some people cultivated an air of apathy and indifference, Dean was not one of those. He thought of himself as a bit of a white knight, always there to help, even when no one asked. It was his calling. It's what his dad left for him. Saving people.

Despite the Angel was enraptured by his show, he was still in pain. Knowing what he was looking for, Dean could see it, the way his breaths were hitched and shallow, the way he kept his shoulders tense and high. Dean pulled himself to his feet and made his way to the bathroom. He dug out a vicodin for the Angel and paused a moment assessing his own pain. Honestly, he could not remember whether or not he had taken a pill of his own that morning, so he shook out two more and swallowed them down then went back out to the couch, holding out the remaining oblong little pill.

"Here, it'll help with the pain." Honestly, Dean had no proof that it would, Angels might metabolize completely different than humans. But Gabe had eaten Dean's lunch and possibly breakfast, so hopefully opiates were just as easy on them as peanutbutter or pink cake.

Castiel blinked those bright eyes of his, slowly raising his gaze to the offered pill, then higher to Dean's face.

"You eat it. It'll make you feel better." Dean shook the pill in what he hoped was a tantalizing manner. When he got no response he pretended to put it in his own mouth and made an exaggerated swallowing sound, then held it out again.

Slowly, Castiel parted his lips, the lower one still split and a bit red. It was an invitation the likes of which Dean had not had in quite some time.

So, naturally he got shifty eyes, suddenly unsure about his close proximity or what he was about to do. "Don't chew. It'll taste like ass." He carefully pushed the pill past the Angel's lips, the pad of his thumb brushing against the raw bit of skin and causing the other man to wince slightly. "Sorry." Dean's own voice was a bit rough for some reason and it surprised him. "Just swallow it."

The Angel tried, for whatever that was worth, his adam's apple bobbing and his throat clicking dryly. He opened his mouth again, sticking his tongue out slightly with the pill still stuck to the tip and crossing his eyes, trying to look at the offending painkiller.

It made Dean chuckle, even if it did hurt his chest a bit to do so. He had no idea that angels could be so… cute. He wanted to really zoom in on the adorable side of the situation, because it felt like a bit of a safer place to settle his thoughts than on his own actions or the pleasant feeling churning in his gut. "Here." He staggered into the kitchen, and came back with a glass of water. "Drink this."

And the Angel did, without question or hesitation, but carefully took the offered glass between his hands and sipped at the water. It took a few tries and a messy spill down his chin and shirt, but the pill was swallowed. He stuck his little pink tongue out again, checking to make sure he had really been successful.

Dean nodded and sat back down in the recliner, glancing sideways at the long wings sprawled out over the back of the couch. The Angel was still looking at him, mouth open and tongue still pressed to his lower lip. Dean had had a little smile, but it died a swift death. "Yeah, I see that, dude." He bit at the inside of his cheek. "You can put it away now."

Castiel closed his mouth with an audible click of teeth and Dean looked away, something about the intense soul gazing going on was getting to be a bit much.

"I still hurt." It was not a whine. The Angel sounded almost betrayed, his low voice raking down Dean's spine in a way that was not wholly unpleasant.

"You gotta wait for it to kick in." He advised, watching as some new kids show was flashing over the screen, all bright colors and singing.

"Hey." He started without any end in mind.

Castiel looked over at him, blinking owlishly.

"Other than the pain, how you feelin'?" He asked lamely, wanting to fill the sudden silence that he brought into being.

"Tired." He answered simply.

And Dean nodded, smooth as ever.

"And… broken." He struggled with that last word, one eyebrow rising ever so slightly; as if unsure that was the one he wanted.

Dean nodded again in a way he hopped was encouraging. Broken sounded about right. He was not sure what 'grace' was, but Gabe had mentioned it twice now and it sounded important and forcibly gone at this point. "Is someone going to come looking for you?"

"Why?"

Dean frowned, trying to think of the best way to explain his suspicions based off the state he found Gabe in. How do you tell a man that you suspect that they were tied up in a basement for a while by people who had the intention of harvesting parts of you, without somehow triggering a post traumatic stress disorder or a panic attack? If Castiel did not understand what Dean was talking about, maybe it was best to just drop it for the time being.

"The people who caught me?" He half turned on the couch, facing Dean and giving him all his attention, effectively ignoring the television. "They are dead."

"You really do learn to talk fast, don't you?"

And he was blinking again, tilting his head just so. "I learned when I fell a year ago. Is that uncommon?"

That stopped Dean. A year? He had found Gabe, presumably a week after he fell, and that had been maybe fourteen months ago. That would mean that the second Angel had fallen very shortly after his older brother. It also meant that the poor thing had been on earth, in questionable circumstances for a whole year. "Wait, dead?"

"Very dead." He affirmed, and he was watching Dean strangely, like he was trying to memorize his features.

"What about that thing that was after you last night?" It was a bit difficult to focus on the facts when he was being analyzed at such close range, but it was better to keep talking than to let himself get dragged into a staring match that he had no chance of winning.

"The denarian?"

"Sure?" Is that what it was called? He would have to ask Sam about it later.

"I destroyed it."

Dean raised both eyebrows at that and the movement hurt the stitches on his forehead. The Angel had been unconscious in the backseat of the Impala when the denarian had attacked. But somewhere in the back of Dean's mind he could remember a flash of white that might not have been pain and someone calling his name. Could it have been the Angel? There had not been anyone else there. "You- you 'destroyed' it?" It was still a difficult idea to digest.

He was answered with a simple, curt nod.

"But you…" Dean took a slow breath, wincing at the stab in his ribs. "Did you- do you know me?" It was clumsily worded, he knew, and he was glad that Sam was not here to correct his grammar or whatever. Besides, poorly constructed thoughts seemed to be a _thing_ for him in regards to the Angel.

"Yes." If the strange line of questioning phased the creature it did not show.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but his thoughts got away from him.

"Your father spoke of you often."

And if Dean had not known what to say before it was nothing but a minor hiccup in comparison to the screeching halt of every gear in his brain.

"He's very proud of his sons."

Finally, Dean was able to close his mouth, maybe blink a few times. Something felt broken, something other than his ribs and it was something that he and the Angel now had in common. John Winchester was dead. Very, very dead. Dean pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes, taking solace in the dull ache of his bruises and scrapes, those beautiful, mundane pains that he was accustomed to. It was familiar, it made sense. He took another deliberate breath.

"You know my dad- does that mean he went," he swallowed thickly, "to heaven?"

There was no response and when he dropped his hands and glanced over he saw that the Angel was asleep, collapsed forward, arms wrapped tightly around his torso, hugging himself as he breathed deep breaths that tensed and sagged the shadow of his wings on each inhale and exhale. Dean blinked in surprise and reached over, hand feeling the side of the thing's neck to make sure that he still had a pulse. He was fine, just very thoroughly asleep. The drugs must have hit him hard.

Dean growled, digging his hands through his hair, and that hurt too.

Everything hurt.

Even his thoughts hurt now. Part of him wished that he had never decided to drive out and visit Sam. But it was a very small part a part that was easily pushed aside.

Dean carefully pushed the Angel over; laying him down with the hopes it would keep him from suddenly falling off the couch and crashing into the coffee table. He carefully took hold of the restlessly shifting wings and settled them down, bending them gently against the Angel's back. They were so soft. He should not have done it, as soon as he started, Dean knew he should stop, but he could not help himself.

He was still petting them when Gabe and Sam came back, which on its own would not have been so bad, but Dean's own vicodin had kicked in, leaving him feeling detached and unable to make wise choices. He had settled himself on the floor beside the couch, face pressed into the thick mess of feathers where they tapered to short downy fluff at the base and vanished in a dark blur into the faded t-shirt fabric. He was taking yawning lungfuls of air, feeling the feathers tickle his nose. It was a good smell, like fall leaves and wood smoke and cinnamon and other comforting, pleasant things.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was distant in the pleasant opium haze. "The fuck?" And strong arms were around Dean, pulling him to his feet and hauling him to the kitchen. Sam looked him over, a frown pinching his features. "Are you on some new allergy medication or something?"

Dean felt his eyes drifting peacefully closed. "No, just some pain killers."

"How many?" There was worry there in the general bitchyness of Sam and it made Dean grin all sloppy and unhinged. He loved Sam too.

"I don't remember, but, dude, I feel awesome."

"Yeah?" And there was a bit of a disbelieving chuckle in that one word. "You look amazing." He sat Dean down at the table, leaning close. "Don't let Gabe catch you doing that."

"He's so fucking soft, Sammy."

And that was enough to make Sam finally laugh. "Oh, when you come down, I am totally rubbing this in."

Gabe came in from the garage, arms full of bagged groceries. "Ice cream is melting, sasquatch. A little help?" he pushed the bags into Sam's arms and went back out to get more.

Dean felt an unbidden smile forming. He had got the Angel to talk, and there had been something important said, even if what it was seemed lost in a medicated fog. But Dean would get to show off the neat new trick to Sammy. He loved showing off to his little brother. But that would be later, for now he rested his head against the cool wood of the table, which sucked in comparison to the wings he had been drifting to sleep on previously, but it was still nice. The clatter of cupboards and rustle of bags was strangely lulling and he was asleep before the groceries were all put away.


	4. Chapter 4

"No." Sam's voice was a sharp warning.

It dragged Dean up from his nap, snapping his eyes open. He was sitting upright on the faded blue futon, listening to his brother's mumbled argument somewhere on the other end of the house. He dragged a hand through his hair and made a face. The last tendrils of vicodin still clung to his body, making his movements sluggish and numb. It was pleasant, other than the awful taste in his mouth.

"Aw, come on." Gabe's plaintive whine broke through the less discernible strains of the argument.

Sam's reply was all but inaudible, but Dean heard something like his name somewhere in it so he took that as his cue and got to his feet, padding as quiet as possible to the door. The damn door did creak open, but the arguing kept up its fervent whispers, so they apparently had no idea that Dean was creeping up on them. The arguing was not much clearer from the hall just beyond the kitchen where Dean took up his post, but he was catching stray words.

"-quick."

"He'll- I can't."

"- tell him."

There was a soft thud and a chuckle like whatever fight they were having was not nearly as big of a deal as it first sounded.

"Is that a threat, sasquatch?"

"It will be if you don't keep quiet."

"Oh, I'm shaking in my boots."

Dean risked a peek around the corner, and immediately wished that he had not. Gabe was perched atop the counter beside the sink, head thrown back and quiet laughter dancing over his face. Sam was pressed up against the counter, hips settled between the Angel's knees, one arm raised up, holding a head of lettuce like he planned to beat Gabe with it. Dean was used to fighting with Sam, wrestling, clubbing each other with whatever objects were within arm's reach, but the Angel was hooking his ankles together at the small of Sam's back, and that was not something that Dean did. The Angel was also catching little handfuls of Sam's shirt and trying in vain to pull him down so their heads were level, making soft biting motions- which was DEFINETLY not something that Dean did with his brother.

"Stop it, Gabe." Sam was laughing quietly, whispering and joking and letting himself be tugged downward, inch by inch.

Stomach churning, Dean slipped back into the hall. It was possible that his brother was drunk. Sam always got a bit funny when he had too much to drink. So that is where Dean decided to place the blame. He went back to his room and immediately went to his duffle, getting out his Smith & Wesson 29, a sturdy, Dirty Harry model that weighed roughly a ton- and Dean started cleaning it. It was mechanical, and he did not have to think about his swift, sure movements, dulled only slightly but the numbness in his fingertips. By the time he finished there was a light knocking on his door and his brother's shaggy head appeared.

"Hey, look who's awake." And he grinned like nothing was wrong at all, but Dean knew him, and he knew that smile. That was the look Sam gave him when he was feeling guilty.

Dean cleared his throat, not looking up from the gun he was putting back together. "How long was I out?"

"Only two hours." Sam came into the room and pulled out the rolling chair from the computer desk, sitting in it backwards and watching Dean. "Dinner's almost done."

"Great. I'm starving. Your girlfriend ate my lunch." He had not meant for it to come out quite like that. He risked a hurried glance up and saw a little frown on his brother's face.

"He does that sometimes."

"So… how long have you two been banging each other?" If Sam wasn't going to correct the 'girlfriend' title, Dean was going straight for the jugular on this one. He hated beating around the bush and if his kid brother had turned to the dark side- the fabulous dark side- Dean was not about to let it slide without comment.

The noise Sam made was one of shock and horror and it almost was enough to make Dean laugh.

"What?! We're not-"

"Come on, Sammy. How long have you been getting a little slice of heaven from your little slice of heaven?"

"Dean!" Sam was up out of his chair, looming over his brother, casting a shadow across the bed. "I told you we're just friends. Why does everything have to be sex with you?"

"Because I saw you two making out in the kitchen." He set his gun aside and just leaned back on his elbows. He wasn't up for a proper fight right now, besides, it was not really the sort of thing that you have a fight about. Sam had always had a thing for sexing up the monsters, just like Dean had a thing for long legs and tight jeans. So his kid brother had questionable taste, at least an Angel was less likely to kill them than some of the other things Sam had bedded. Gabe being a dude was really more fifty percent of the problem (and that was debatable, because Dean was not sure if Angels even had a gender) and the other half was that Sam was so hell bent on hiding it from him.

The fact that Dean had not actually seen any kissing was lost in the face of Sam not denying that there was any. His face just grew red and he stammered a lot, looking at his feet and out the window and basically anywhere other than Dean. Finally he sank back into his chair. "A few weeks." It was a quiet sort of confession, really debatable if Sam had even unclenched his teeth long enough to say it.

"A few weeks?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Ten months." Gabe corrected from the doorway, a thoroughly amused look on his face.

"Thanks, but I don't need your help." Sam put his face in his hands.

"Don't know about that. A school teacher who can't even count." He tisked, folding his arms over his narrow chest. "No wonder our education system is falling apart."

"Gabe." Sam warned, looking up with his best bitch face, and Dean finally started laughing.

"You two are gross." He sat up, not liking the way that leaning back made his chest burn. "What's for dinner?"

Sam let out a startled puff of air and explained that there were steaks.

Castiel joined them at the table, hair a mess, clutching a blanket around his shoulders and looking lost. He did not eat, or say anything, he simply watched the others, and looking startled from time to time at the things the hunters would call each other.

Not really ready to let it go, but also not wanting to accidently get any details on their love life, Dean let the topic drop. He figured he could corner Sam later, away from his talkative little Angel and get the non graphic telling of their torrid, gay romance.

Dean knew down inside that it was just a phase, just a thing Sam was going through as part of his drastic life style change. It was disturbing as fuck, but it was just a temporary arrangement. The Angel would eventually re-angelify and return to his war and Sam could go back to tits and ass and Dean would sleep better at night. Or at least, that was his silent plan. He dare not vocalize it as he had no proof that Angels that fell could go back up to heaven, and knew that Sam would get all butt hurt over the mere suggestion. So he smiled and teased his little brother about having a job that required a tie and the million other things that were so easy to rag on Sam about.

It was a good dinner, though something was nagging him, lingering in the back of his thoughts like a dark stranger waiting to be noticed. It was not until after two slices of store bought cherry pie (with vanilla ice-cream) that Dean could put words to the strange inkling.

"You're not talking." He pointed his sticky fork at Castiel and the Angel tilted his head curiously in reply. "And your wings are gone." He had to tilt his head slightly and squint, but even the churning shadows were gone.

"We can hide them when we are strong enough, which is why you can't see mine. And you don't want him talking." Gabe reminded, serving himself another bowl of ice-cream.

"He was talking earlier- like normal people talk." At least, Dean thought that he had. Really, it might just have been a gentle hallucination brought on by taking too many pills, but he did not think so.

"Really, Cassy? Did you find your big kid words?" The blonde Angel rocked in his seat, looking excited, worried and pleased all wrapped up in one.

Castiel licked his lips slightly, just a quick dart of pink tongue, but made no reply.

"Oh, you gunna be shy now?" Gabe leaned forward, elbows on the table, smiling.

"What did he say?" Sam's intense expression paled in comparison to the one Castiel wore, but it was a good attempt.

"I-" Dean frowned, "I don't really remember. I know he told me to change it back when I changed channels on him." And the rest was a bit of a blur, he remembered getting upset and the Angel falling asleep, but that was it. Then it was just Dean waking up in bed, cocooned in a scratchy afghan.

"Seriously, how many pills did you take?" Sam sighed, still watching Castiel, but sparing an exasperated look to his brother.

"I don't know- I was grabbing one for Cas, and I took a few while I was there… maybe I had some when I first woke up too."

"Cas?" Gabe sniggered. "So you two got to know each other quite well I take it."

Dean frowned, looking down at his dirty plate. He had no idea why the moniker had slipped out. Castiel was just too long and weird sounding, and there was no way he was going to call the thing Cassy. "Yeah, your one to talk, _Gabriel_."

"Eww, don't." The short Angel was up from the table, taking dirty dishes with him as he tried to vanish into the kitchen.

"Gabriel?" Sam frowned.

"Yeah, it's what his brother called him." Dean nodded in Castiel's direction.

"I said _don't_." Gabe reminded loudly.

Sam got real quiet, that calculating look on his face taking over. "Is that a common name for Angels?"

"How the hell should I know?" Dean leaned back in his chair, trying to balance it on just the back legs.

"Yeah, it was the most common boy's name the year I was born." Gabe came back in with a beer, some pale ale nonsense, and sat down with a frown. "Just drop it."

"There are no other Angels in all of our father's creation named Gabriel." Castiel spoke for the first time in hours and Dean's stomach dropped out. He had been willing to chalk the low, rumbling voice up to the drugs, but no. It was still there. All four feet of his chair were on the ground again with a clatter.

"Damn good time to chime in there, Cassy." Gabriel said with a deflating sigh.

"It is a sacred name." He paused to clear his throat, watching his older brother with a curious look. "You know that. All the archangels have-"

And that was when Gabe threw his freshly opened and still quite full beer at his brother.

Castiel just looked confused, wet and sad.

"You never did know when to shut up." But Gabe did not sound mad, he sounded resigned and Dean did not understand why.

He looked to Sam and was surprised to see that calculating, determined look still on his face. "Gabe, we need to talk." He was using his super serious voice, the one normally reserved for when Dean royally fucked something up. It was nice to know that it could be directed at someone else.

And the little Angel simply stood and walked to the back bedroom, head hung low, Sam close on his heels.

"Hey, what's going… on?" Dean gave up. He would get it out of Sam later. Something important had just flown way over his head, but there were other things to worry about. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up." He pushed out his chair and came over to the remaining Angel, helping him wobble to his feet and into the kitchen. The blanket had been left behind to sop up the beer pooling on the floor beneath the table and Castiel was left in a very wet shirt, eyes a little too wide and a small sad frown bowing his lips.

Dean found the paper towels and it was a flashback to the night before, with him carefully dabbing questionable moister from the silent creature. "It's going to hurt like a bitch, but put your arms up." He directed and was partially amazed at how the Angel simply followed his orders, only wincing slightly as he rolled his shoulder. Dean helped him out of the wet t-shirt and dragged him back to his room, digging out a flannel and redressing him. The whole thing was abnormal. It was just plane… weird.

Weird was the best word that Dean could find. "Dude, you're like a really obedient puppy." Weird, but nice for a man who was used to having his demands ignored unless he had a gun out.

"I like dogs." And it was strange that when the Angel was quiet, it was so easy for the hunter to view him as just some lost, broken creature- something feral, but sort of friendly in a skittish way. All that vanished when he spoke. His three simple and inane words rolling over Dean like a semi. It was impossible not to stop and take notice when someone spoke like the Angel did. The fact that he was standing far too close, eyes wide and searching, did very little to help the punch-drunk feeling. Even after so many years in the business, Dean was unaccustomed to being bludgeoned by unnaturally lovely things. Lovely was not typically part of Dean's job description.

There was a loud noise on the other side of the wall and Dean was suddenly very aware of the fact that his room and Sam's shared a wall. A stifled moan followed and either someone was injured, or the younger Winchester brother had decided to forgive Gabe from whatever infraction he had committed earlier. Probably the latter, as it was not the sort of moan that begged for help, but more the kind that begged to keep going.

Castiel's bright eyes were fixed on the wall, a look of concern taking over.

"It's alright."

"We should check on them, your brother could be injured." He said sensibly while soft gasps made their way through the dry wall.

"Nah, there's nothing in there that we can help him with. He'll be fine." Inwardly Dean was screaming 'eww'. Knowing that your brother was getting sex regularly was a high-five worthy sort of thing. Being in close proximity to said regular sex was just plain disturbing.

"Our brothers are fornicating." Castiel said simply, understanding dawning.

"Oh, god." Dean put a hand to his forehead and frowned back when the Angel suddenly scowled at him.

"God has nothing to do with their actions."

"Awesome." Dean grabbed up the gun he had left out, tucked it into the waistband of his pants and stalked out of the room. "Come on, Cas." And sure enough, the Angel followed without question, which was for the best, because otherwise Dean would have totally left him behind to listen to the string of filthy litanies being dragged out of little Sammy Winchester.

It was disgusting, but Dean was not about to interrupt a man in the middle of getting some. That was just cruel. Besides, Sam was an adult, he was free to make his own horrible mistakes and Dean was just as free to rub them in at a later date in time after everyone was showered and dressed.

A drive in the Impala seemed like the best remedy to the awful images that Dean was finding a hard time shaking. Her hood was dented to hell, roughly in the shape of an angel, the left headlight broken and the backseat smeared with ichor and feathers. His poor baby was in bad shape, but still good enough for a drive. It was early evening and the sun was still painting the sky with reds and oranges even if the sphere itself could not be seen over the tree line. Dean dug out a CCR cassette tape and popped it in, deciding against explaining the benefits of a seatbelt to an Angel, and he just drove.

Strains of classic rock ferried them through the darkening woods, the volume too loud to allow for conversation, but that was fine as Dean was not big on small talk and it seemed that neither was the Angel. But in the end it was the Angel who broke first.

"Do you have a specific destination planned for us?"

Dean flicked his fingers over the dial, turning down the volume down just a click or two. "Nope, just needed a bit of air."

"There was plenty of air back in the house."

"I mean fresh air." Apparently the Angel did not do subtle very well.

"I see." But it was evident from the questioning tone that he did not really.

Dean just sighed and cranked the volume back up, unashamedly singing along with the chorus- up until the point he realized that Castiel was just staring openly at him, then Dean sort of tapered off, clearing his throat and settling for simply drumming his hands against the wheel.

With the windows down, the smell of the sea had started to grow stronger and that was enough to take Dean's mind off his own embarrassment or the idea of his brother and whatever sweaty trouble he was getting himself into.

He took what looked like a service road, relying on his inner compass that he was headed east- because east was the direction of those waves that he could not hear over the blaring music. The little road took them winding down through more tree infested woods, all sparse and starting to fade into the evening fog, but the trees gave way to the wide open and dark rush of the sea. He pulled over into a gravel turn off and took the keys from the ignition, letting the engine purr down to silence.

"God, it's fucking beautiful out here."

"Do you always pray so… unconventionally?" Castiel had not even noticed the ocean spilling out before them, he was just watching Dean with his almost alien expression. It was as if he had no idea how to look at someone like a human should. It was all deep, unblinking stares, leaning too close and not breathing at a normal tempo. Dean had been on the receiving end of many a creepy stare in his time, but this one might take the cake.

"Come on, Cas." He got out of the car, boots scuffing in the rocks and waited while he listened to the Angel fumbling with the handle for long enough that Dean just sighed again and came round to the passenger side and opened the door for him.

They walked down to the beach, gravel giving way to coarse sand and the clean, biting smell of the Atlantic Ocean. Dean found the remains of a bonfire, nothing more than blackened logs in a semi circle, and he sat down. It had been less than twenty-four hours since getting tossed around by that bear thing and he was still very far from what he would call 'feeling good'. Castiel chose to stand, hugging himself slightly against the cool breeze, and watching the waves in the same way that he had watched Dean.

Dean in turn watched the Angel. He had seen the sea before, and yeah, it still made him feel a little small and in awe of the actual force of nature, but it sort of felt dwarfed by the fact that he was watching it with and Angel. An honest to god Angel. He could not classify them as monsters, he did not know what they were- and even if they looked human in most respects, they just really weren't.

"Cas, did you see what happened to that monster bear last night, or were you unconscious for it?"

"The denarian?" Castiel turned slightly to look over his shoulder at Dean.

"… That sounds familiar." Something was flickering, like a candle against a storm, only the vaguest of light shining on half of a memory.

"It did not seem to strike a chord when I told you this morning."

"Did we talk about it this morning?" He folded his own arms, regretting not grabbing his jacket before leaving Sam's place. Try as he might, Dean could not remember anything that they spoke of earlier in the day, only that they spoke. "Well, tell me again."

"I said nothing to you other than the name and that it I killed it. Did you want me to tell you that again?" He came through the sand and sat beside Dean, too close, but sharing a bit of radiant warmth, so it was not too bad.

"Uh, no. That's alright." He made a point to avoid eye contact and was proud at how good he was getting at it. "So… you _destroyed_ the bear?" It was a funny mental image. "You couldn't even stay awake."

"I used what was left of my Grace."

Dean glanced over in time to see the Angel looking at his hands, slowly curling and uncurling his fingers, looking like he had lost something. It was beyond pitiful. "Will, uh, there be more of 'em coming for you?"

"Ursiel was not the only Blackened Denarius in the area, so I suppose it is possible."

Dean edged closer, just slightly, enough that their knees were touching and there was a pool of heat in that slight contact. "And what are these d-denariuses?"

"They are fallen angels bonded to human hosts." He spat it out, the first real emotion that had crept into his voice since he found it.

And it got Dean's attention. Hosts? "Wait, bonded? Are you saying that Angels are going around possessing people- and then why the fuck was it a bear?"

"They are not Angels any longer."

"So, like you and Gabe?" Something did not feel right about this. Something was definitely wrong with the idea of an Angel acting like a demon and taking a human host.

If Castiel had looked offended before, he was livid now, his face pale and alert in the wane starlight. "No, they are nothing like us." He stood, no longer wanting to sit beside Dean and when he spoke again there was a ringing echo of his true voice. "We fell because we had no strength to stay any longer. The denarians fell as Lucifer did. They are no more Angels than you or your brother, or any other hairless ape on this desolate shell of a world."

Dean had nothing to say to that. It was the most words he had heard the Angel string together and it was far from a friendly explanation. His ears were ringing slightly and he wanted a moment to get his thoughts in order before speaking again, but then Castiel was sitting beside him once more, head bowed.

"My apologies. I lost my temper. It is a beautiful world that our Father has given to your kind."

"Yeah." Dean did not move closer this time, he would rather deal with the cold. Bipolar Angels were new to the menu and it was going to take more than one day to grow accustomed to it.

"I am fallen from heaven, but I did not _Fall_." He put extra weight on that last word and Dean figured that he sort of understood. The Angel turned his pale face to the sky, the crooked sliver of moon catching in his eyes. "I will return one day, Father willing. The denarians never will. They forsook their Grace, willingly abandoning it to follow our brother down below."

Dean kept quiet, watching the creature and feeling something akin to pity for it. The anger had gone out of him, his thin shoulders sagging. He honestly looked sad at the prospect of what had happened to what must have been his brothers. Dean thought of Sam and the demon's blood problem that they had faced for years, and the promise he had made to their father. If Sam had gone evil Dean would have worn a similar expression to the Angel's, one of bitter sorrow and abandonment.

"There were once thirty, but nearly half have been destroyed." Again, the anger had vanished and the only emotion he wore was one of subtle sorrow.

"How many are gunning for you?" Dean almost put an arm around Castiel's shoulders, pulling him closer, but that was more Sam's job. Dean did not do the touchy-feely crap so well.

"I do not know. I have lost my ability to feel them. But I assume that Gabriel would notice if one were close enough for us to be in danger."

"That's good I guess." Dean pulled his eyes away from the stargazing Angel and forced himself to look out at the rolling waves as the tide pulled itself in.

They sat silently for a time as the night dragged on and the stars were lost in the ominous boiling clouds of another storm. It was not until the first drops of rain stated pattering quietly around them that Dean finally stood.

"Time to head back."

Castiel did not follow him, did not even look over, his gaze fixed on the tar black waves where they crashed almost invisibly in the darkness.

"Come on." Still no response and Dean reached out and grasped one of those thin shoulders. The Angel was shaking. It was such a fine tremor, Dean would have never noticed if he had not laid a hand on him.

"She is coming." His soft whisper did not betray his tension, his voice still low and strong.

"Who?" Dean was getting that uneasy feeling again. He took his hand from the Angel and settled it on the butt of his gun.

"Akariel." It was not a pleasant sounding word, all rolling and venomous.

"Another of those denarians?" It did not matter how hard he stared into the darkness, all he could see was the chilling rain. "I thought you said you couldn't feel them anymore."

"I can smell her."

"Should we run?" Dean still felt like hell and all he had were six rounds in his gun's chamber and a damaged, graceless Angel. He was heavily weighing his options and running sounded like the best one.

"I doubt we will be fast enough." A sound ripped thought the night and it had nothing to do with the storm. "But I think I would like to try."

No one needed to tell him twice. He grabbed Castiel's arm, dragging him to his feet and they ran through the sand. Dean was chanting a breathless mantra of 'fuck', practically throwing himself into the car, coaxing the engine to life before the Angel even got his door open. Before Castiel's ass even landed the denarian showed itself.

It came up through the night, through the storm and the fog, like a fire. The engine stopped… the sea stopped. The red glow of the fallen Angel shone like a nova on the glassy surface. It was unnatural as hell to see the Atlantic without a single wave, it was worse to see a distant nightmare born of flame, blurring over the dead sea and sand, dragging itself towards the stalled Impala.

Dean throttled the keys, shaking them and cursing, foot pumping the peddle. "Come on, Baby. COME ON!" The light was growing and he could see shadows again. "Fuck me." He pulled out his gun. "Can you shoot?"

Castiel looked at the offered gun and took it by the barrel, looking confused, but determined.

"How the fuck did you come from a war?" He muscled the gun away and repositioned it correctly. "Skinny end goes at the badguy. Point and pull." With those directions he resumed trying to get the engine to turn over. She finally sputtered to life just as the Angel figured out how a trigger worked. It was like thunder in the close confines of the car and apparently he was a decent shot, because the creature howled in pain.

Dean peeled out, gravel and grit flying as he tore down the narrow service road out to the highway.

"Please tell me you unrolled the window."

"Unroll?"

"I am going to hurt you with a brick." He threatened between his teeth, even as Castiel turned and fired through the back window as the denarian came tearing through the trees after them. It screamed, something feral that set Dean's skin crawling and his heart pounding against his ribs. "Did you get it?"

"Yes." And the Angel fired again.

"It's not dead? Shoot it better."

"I think I am just making it angry now."

"Fuck." Dean replied eloquently and that was about when the Impala flipped over- trunk over hood, the momentum carrying her into a bank of trees, wild sparks flaring up for a moment all red and gold as the metal gave way with a scream of protest. There was a white ringing in Dean's ears, something high and pervasive that he had a feeling might never leave him and the world was swimming before his eyes, all fog inlayed and muted colors chasing each other. Before his vision even cleared he became aware that he was upside down, seatbelt caught painfully against his shoulder and chest. He was grateful for that, though he did not even remember putting it on. Old habits he supposed.

Castiel was crumpled against the ceiling of the car, blood on his face and Dean could just make out that he was struggling to move through the waves of shock and adrenaline. Then blue eyes were looking into his, bright and wild and the Angel was saying something that Dean could not make out over the ringing. It was a short, hard word and he repeated it a few times before growing tired of this game and looking around what remained of the car's cab. Not that he had ever looked happy exactly, but the Angel's face became steely, his eyes tightening under the smears of blood on his face. He picked up a jagged piece of shattered windshield, and shoved it hard into the palm of his left hand.

Under normal circumstanced, Dean would have reacted quicker. He felt on the verge of blacking out while he watched the Angel hastily painting something on the ruined hood, reaching out into the night while rain splattered silently around them through the canopy. There was a dreaded feeling growing inside of him, and even if he could not hear a damn thing, he got the uneasy suspicion that whatever had been chasing them was very close now. He fumbled with his seatbelt, and Castiel was yelling something at him, but when he saw that Dean sill could not hear or understand him he placed a dirty hand over Dean's eyes, all warm with life and his own blood and then the world trembled. It pulled the breath right out of Dean's lungs, the feeling tearing through him like something alive, white-hot clawing its way out of his chest.

He woke up briefly when Sam hefted him into the back of the Highlander and again when a nurse was shining a light into his eyes, her cold, sterile hands touching a fresh bruise on his cheek and making him wince. It was a small pain and discomfort, easily forgotten as the darkness took him again. He woke only one more time that night, dimly aware from the over powering antiseptic smell that he must be in a hospital. The lights had been dimmed and the only real sounds were coming from the monitors hooked up to him, all soft beeps and whirrs of servos. He could just make out the hunched form of Sam, asleep in a chair beside the bed, his long legs stretched out at uncomfortable angles. Dean smiled, and he did not know why.

Movement caught in the corner of his eye and he painfully turned his head slightly to the right. Castiel stood there, quiet and still as a statue.

Dean tried to speak, to ask what the hell happened and how was it that he was incapacitated while the Angel looked fine other than a few bumps and scrapes, but he did not get the chance. Castiel saw Dean struggling and came over, covering the space between them in two short strides. He placed a hand lightly to Dean's forehead.

"The nurses say that you must sleep."

And Dean would have argued, but sleep really did sound like a lovely place to be, so he went without further argument.


	5. Chapter 5

It was explained at some point that, after the fallen angel vs. Impala death match, that Castiel had been alert enough to redial the last number called on Dean's phone- which, coincidently (and luckily) was Sam's phone. Sam had rushed to the rescue, then rushed to the hospital and gave Dean to the emergency room staff.

The Impala had been towed to Sioux Falls, to Bobbie's, and she would be in need of some serious reconstructive car-surgery. Cas was apparently fine other than a severed tendon in his hand that had required quite a few stitches- but Gabriel had assured everyone that it would be fine if they gave it a few weeks.

Sam had taken the time off of work and spent the hours beating Dean at go-fish and listening to his older brother whine that he was far too fine to be stuck in a hospital. He complained about the food, how man cannot survive on Jell-o alone, how they didn't even have HBO, and how all his nurses were old enough to be their grandma. He did not, however, mention the fact that Castiel was nowhere to be seen, Dean was not even sure if the Angel had even been there the first night or if it had just been his imagination. Dean would talk his brother's ear off (the morphine they had him on left him feeling one hundred and ten percent) about anything and everything, except Castiel.

Whatever had attacked them had vanished from the face of the Earth, just like the bear-thing, and Dean knew in his gut that it was because of Castiel. Maybe something to do with what he had painted on the car with his dark, sticky, angel blood or maybe it was just some residual angel mojo thing that was beyond Dean's comprehension. Any way it went down, he knew that it had something to do with the little, dark haired Angel. The thing had saved Dean's life twice now, and not that Dean was the sort of man to often say thank you to monsters and other such beasties, he felt he at least owed the guy a beer at some point.

They let Dean out of the hospital two days after the accident, he was bruised and a little broken, but there was no internal bleeding, so they decided to give his bed to someone closer to death.

Sam's house had been refortified, fresh salt laid down at each window and a carefully drawn sigil on the blue front door. It look suspiciously similar to the same one Dean had seen Castiel paint on the Impala. He hobbled over the threshold with Sam looming too close, just in case Dean decided to let his feet fall out from under him.

"Welcome home, cowboy." Gaberiel popped his head out of the kitchen with a wry grin.

"Hey, short stack." Dean returned the smile, though it was a much lower wattage. He settled into the beaten recliner that he had claimed as his own and batted Sam away. "Knock it off, I'm fine."

"You've got a hemorrhage in one eye, two more cracked ribs and enough bruising that you're more black and blue than any other color.

"Yeah, but my legs are just fine." He folded his hands over his stomach, forcing himself not to wince. "Now go get me a drink." He smiled as his brother sighed and went to the kitchen. "A strong one." He instructed.

"They said no alcohol with the pills they put you on."

"Well they don't know what they're talking about." And his smile turned to a grin as he hear the familiar sound of a metal bottle cap rattling against the counter and Sam returned, pressing a cold beer into his hands.

"Short stack?" He called out after a long pull of amber colored love.

"Yeah?" Gabriel's disembodied voice came from somewhere outside his line of sight.

"Where's Cas?"

"Cassy's discovered hot showers."

For some reason that idea gave Dean a bit of a pause, the cool glass rim of the bottle against his lower lip.

"But it's only a fifty gallon water heater, so he should be resurfacing for air soon." And the little blonde Angel came in the living room with a plate heavily laden with pancakes and syrup and jam, settling down beside Sam, close enough that their knees touched.

Dean wrinkled his nose and took another swig of beer. "Get a room, you two." He was not in a mood to see them snuggling. Knowing about it and watching them do it were two different things.

"You know, last time we got a room you almost got eaten." Gabe pointed out with a forkful of dripping pancake, before showing it into his mouth.

"Whatever." The cold glass felt nice as he rubbed it back and forth between the palms of his hands. Dean wanted to ask about what happened, Sam had been vague on the details and ill informed at best, and he wanted to ask Castiel, not his miniature older brother- but the distant rush of the shower could still be heard from down the hall and Dean had never been particularly patient, that was more Sam's deal.

"What exactly was that thing?"

"Fahhren-anfer." He mumbled through another mouthful.

"Fallen Angel?" Dean raised a brow. "Yeah, I got that much from Cas. I mean, what was it and what happened to it?"

Gabe swallowed loudly. "Fallen Angels were the big guns brought out in hopes of ending the war. Really nasty things that were supposed to tip the scales for the dark side."

"Like… siths?" Dean liked this guy, they spoke the same language.

"Bingo." Gabe cut off another too big bite of food. "Problem is, the big hitters were a bit too big and without Lucifer around to keep them in line they sort of went awol. Mostly it's just general mayhem- they still stick to the whole apocalypse party that hell and heaven are trying to kick off, but when they get a whiff of an Angel down here on earth? They just go nuts."

"They're after Cas." Dean was trying to focus on the main points and not get caught up on the mention on an apocalypse or get distracted by how Sam was suddenly very alert.

"Yeah, they even caught him for a bit." And his gentle, golden eyes hardened for a moment. "Cassy's finally started talking too. He told me he fell right after I did. So the bastards had him for about a year." He glanced over his shoulder, down the hall, towards the sound of the shower turning off and the pipes rattling gently. Gabe's voice dropped to an almost whisper, like he was talking more to himself than the brothers. "They probably would have him still if you didn't find him." Then he was smiling again, white teeth and hints of dimples. "Honestly, the kid should still be up at home. He's not old enough to come down here and play with the big kids." The bathroom door opened and there was a glimpse of something pale and wet going further down the hall. "He's like a scared little bunny." Gabe was chuckling quietly into his pancakes.

"If he's such a little bunny how did he manage to gank two of those things?"

"Ingenuity and knowhow." He said sagely.

Dean took another slow drink. He hadn't really learned anything new, other than Cas was apparently afraid of Earth, which didn't really resonate well with Dean. He had seen the Angel after the car had flipped and there was a nightmare of a demon crawling up over them. Castiel had not looked even remotely afraid. He had looked pissed, perhaps even a little scary. He had actually looked a lot like Dean's dad had back when they used to hunt together.

It was a pregnant sort of silence that they shared, comfortably broken from time to time by Gabriel's fork clinking against his plate.

Dean mulled over his thoughts, feeling a bit fuzzy from the pills the doc had given him and the warm mix of alcohol. He was detached and a bit numb and if suddenly a fight burst through the door Dean would have been completely useless.

When Castiel came down the hall, Dean almost called out in a friendly, drug encouraged, hello, a sort of 'hey, haven't seen you in a while. How've you been?' but it died on his lips.

Now, there is some sort of trigger in men's minds that get pulled hard when they see hot chicks dressed in men's clothing, especially if it's just a shirt, and just long enough to keep it from being pornographic, but short enough to be really interesting.

Castiel had obviously dressed himself, and the clothes were not his. They were Dean's. It was not the same as seeing a disheveled and curvy beauty prancing around in just one of his flannels. And to be honest, Dean had actually given the Angel one of his shirts before their ill-fated beach trip. But in that second the trigger was pulled just the same, something low in his stomach tightening clumsily.

The jeans were a bit too big, hanging low on his narrow waist and showing just a hint of his delicate hips. The grey plaid flannel fit a bit better, but it seemed that buttons were a bit too hard to work with when you have one hand wrapped in gauze like a mummy, so it was hanging open, giving a lovely peek show of pale, arching ribs and fading greenish bruises. The Angel was still struggling with the buttons when he sat down beside his brother, frowning and mumbling to himself. Dean could not make out the words, all he knew was that the Angel needed a bit of a shave as his cheeks were shadowed with just enough dark stubble to make his soft features come off as masculine.

Dean drank, feeling his stomach do a neat little flip, and he looked over at the bookcase, distracting his thoughts with well worn titles and clean, sharp lines. He had no idea what was wrong with him, no clue as to why seeing the young Angel half dressed, skin still a bit pink form his shower, filled Dean's mind with thoughts of dark corners and wandering hands. It was probably the pills and the booze. Sam was right about not mixing them. He set the bottle aside and rubbed at his mouth.

"Hope you don't mind." Gabe took over the job of buttoning up his brother. "He's too tall for my clothes and too short for Sam's- and well, naked wasn't an option we wanted to explore."

In response Dean made a face to accompany his shrug. Clothes were clothes. There was no need to make a big deal.

Apparently Sam had been expecting one, because he was leaning forward, frowning. "Hey, you doin' ok, Dean?"

"I told you, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." He said with some authority, getting up, but to do what Dean could only guess.

"Dean?" Castiel was standing now too, his brother's efforts dashed. He was only half buttoned up, and Gabe had (intentionally or not) not been matching the buttons up with the right holes, leaving the shirt to hang crooked. Apparently he had been so caught up in the activity of dressing that he had not taken notice of the older Winchester before that point. "You came back." His voice was just as low as Dean remembered, but he sounded happy, in a distant, quiet sort of way.

"Sure did." Had there been some doubt?

And Cas smiled at him, just the barest hint in his eyes, not even enough to curl his lips, but it was there, Dean was positive he saw the shadow of it in that intense gaze. Dean risked a smile in return, just a little one, and it felt brittle. He looked away from Cas, picking up his beer again but not taking a drink.

He had lied to Sam, he was not fine. He felt… odd, and he didn't like it. The warmth pooling in his gut had only ever accompanied a set of long legs and firm tits and there was not a single set of boobs in the whole room. It wasn't natural. The warmth started to churn in a very unpleasant way and he started to feel sick.

Sam took the bottle from him, and before Dean could raise a fuss, he was being helped to his feet. Dignity be damned, he leaned into his brother, swaying on legs that felt like undercooked spaghetti. If it hadn't been for the solid wall of warmth that was Sam's chest, Dean would have probably been sprawled out on the floor, or at least back in his chair.

"Come on, the nurse said that you needed to rest."

"I'm not tired, Sammy."

"I know." His brother assured, arm loosely around his waist as he lead him down the hall. "But your eyes are all glazed and you look like death warmed over." He settled Dean down on the futon, yanking off his boots and unceremoniously tossing a blanket over him. "You need to sleep, Dean." His voice had grown soft in the way that parents talk to stubborn children when it's bedtime.

"Fuck you." Sam was only trying to help, and Dean really did need to sleep. It might not kill the butterflies in his stomach, but it would probably work wonders for everything else.

He rolled over, giving Sam a bit of a cold shoulder and he almost felt bad about it, but he felt Sam pat the edge of the bed and the devout fondness was still in his voice.

"Holler if you need anything, jerk."

"Bitch." He said automatically and felt himself smile as he heard the door close.

He woke some time later, sprawled out on his back, one knee crooked slightly and his shirt pushed up to his collar bones. Castiel was leaning over him, eyes narrowed in concentration as he drew careful, small lines over Dean's chest with a black sharpie.

"Can I help you with something?" He had to resist the urge to slap his hands away and roll to safety.

"If you just keep still. I'm almost finished."

"Finished with what?" He could just make out the designs, little symbols cautiously laid out. It sort of tickled, but he managed not to smile, or growl for that matter.

"Enochian sigils. They will keep you hidden from every Angel in creation." The tip of his tongue darted out, pressing against his upper lip.

"…Why?"

" The denarians know your scent now and they will know that you were with me. This will keep you safe."

"How safe?" It sounded like a good idea in practice, but Castiel leaning over him like that, his rough fingertips carefully tracing the curve of his ribs, made the purpose of the tiny dark drawings take a backseat.

"They will not be able to find you-" He leaned back for a moment, admiring his work so far before tracing a finger down Dean's sternum and returning to his drawing. "It will not be much, but it is all I can offer."

"It's uh… not necessary." Dean shifted, and the Angel's fingers pressed down holding him in place.

"It is. Your father made me promise and I have put you in danger."

Dean choked on rough noise and Castiel made more short, curving lines. "My-"

"Your father." He repeated with a calm nod. "When I pulled him from hell it was his condition for helping us. If he was to join our war he made me promise keep an eye on his sons if the worst should happen."

Dean grabbed the hand that was writing on him, pulling the felt tip away from his skin. "What?"

Castiel sighed in a patient manner and tilted his head. "Are all humans this easily confused or is it specific to you?"

"You know my dad?" Dean tried to push himself up on his elbows only to be gently pushed back down.

"Yes. Now please lay still. I don't want to misspell anything." He shifted closer, pinning Dean in place with a hip. "It started with the war-" He began in his low rumbling way. The Angel kept him in place with a firm hand and a disturbing tale of dragging John up from the pits of hell and enlisting his help against the legions of demons that once held him. John was fighting the same war in death that he had since the nursery fire took Mary. He had been pulled from the pit the same night that his sons had been at the Devil's Gate. He had made Castiel save Sam when he got shanked in the back. Dean had never understood how it was that his brother had recovered from the fatal blow, but he had chalked it up to the dark powers that had been latent in Sam for so long- not any divine intervention.

Dean never doubted him.

Not a word of it.

How Castiel spoke of John, of his stubbornness and his vehement devotion to his family, the Angel obviously knew him. And when he told how John had fallen in the fight against the darkness and the devil himself, Dean flinched, but never doubted. By the time Cas leaned back, capping his sharpie and ending his story, Dean's eyes stung and his throat felt a bit tight.

He said nothing and they rested in that heavy silence, Dean looking up at the popcorn ceiling, reigning his emotions back where they belonged while Castiel watched him with his heavy gaze.

"So… he's just as dead as ever, but he's in heaven now?" Dean had never believed in heaven, but he had never believed in Angels either.

"Yes."

"Thanks." It seemed like the best thing to say, but he felt worse than when he woke in the hospital. He slowly sat up, bones protesting and muscles aching and burning. He ran his hands over his face, wincing and sucking in a sharp breath. "Thanks."

Castiel was watching him with an even expression. "You are welcome."

Another silence passed them, this one slightly more comfortable. "So, these things are like the one on the door and the one you bled out on the car?"

"Yes and no. The one in blood was a banishment, the these and the one on the door are more of wards. Gabriel says that the pen is semi permanent, so they should keep you safe for a while I think."

"Do you get some too?" He looked over his shoulder, noting for the first time that the grey flannel was still buttoned crooked and not a single black markered line could be seen on the pale expanses of flesh.

He blinked those intense eyes. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Will they work on you- I mean, being a de-juiced Angel and all?" He was already taking the sharpie from the other man's hands.

"It would probably work…" His words taper off as he watched Dean making quick work of his buttons.

Honestly, Dean didn't know why he did it, but the next thing he knew it seemed that he had cornered the Angel back against the corner of the bed and was carefully mimicking the lines drawn on his own chest.

"You are surprisingly good at this."

"It's not my first rodeo. I've drawn a few wards and seals in my day." It was slow going, taking Dean much longer than it had taken Cas, but by the time he was done they had beautifully matching designs scrawled over their chests.

Eye contact after that suddenly became increasingly awkward. Dean capped the marker, tossing it onto the desk. "Well, there you go."

"Thank you, Dean." He said in his half whisper, still slouched against the corner, shirt hanging wide open.

Dean licked his lips, and looked away. "Don't mention it."

"I should not have involved you in my troubles."

"Dude, you crash landed on my car and exploded a bear. It was badass."

Castiel blinked at him, leaning forward, the muscles in his stomach tightening in an interesting way. "You would not have had to be placed in danger's way if not for me."

"Do you always talk like this?" He caught his fingers in the bottom of his t-shirt, tugging at it needing to do something with his hands.

"Like what?" He tilted his head again, looking positively owlish.

"Like you just stepped off the mothership."

"Mothership?"

Dean chuckled at that. "Come here, Ziggy Stardust." But he was the one that bridged the distance, adjusting the flannel and carefully re-buttoning it, making a point to not think too hard about how nice the Angel smelled.

The bedroom door opened and Sam's tall shadow blocked the hall light momentarily. "Hey, you feeling any better?" The smile he had withered strangely as he took in Dean and the Angel sitting side by side on the bed. "Am I… interrupting?"

"No." Dean said with a startling amount of venom, fingers brushing over the black marks that he had made with such care.

"…Right." Sam handed him a couple pills and a glass of orange juice. "Cas, your brother needs help with lunch."

"Oh… alright." He stood smoothly, all buttoned up, and went to his brother's aid.

"Dean?" Sam closed the door quietly, leaning against it and giving him such a strange expression. "Are you and Cas… are you planning to keep him- like I decided to keep Gabe?"

"He knew dad." He said simply, letting the bottom drop out of his stomach.

Sam sat beside him and listened while Dean stumbled through the story, by the time he was finished his little brother looked like he had been clubbed over the head.

"Gabe's an archangel." Sam said softly.

"What the hell does that mean?" He rubbed at his chest through his t-shirt, still feeling the weight of the Angel's hand against him.

"It means I should have known that something bigger was going on." He lowered his head, hair hiding his face just a little. "Archangels are to normal angels sort of like … like you and me in comparison to average third grade girls."

"He's a blonde midget."

"He's the Archangel Gabriel." He sighed at Dean's 'so what' expression. "The one that sounds the trumpet for judgment day."

"He drinks peppermint schnapps and sings show tunes." Dean pointed out, peeking down the neck of his shirt at the marks there.

"And you can't drink tequila without getting shitfaced." Sam said with some spite. "He's out of grace, but that doesn't take away what he is."

He looked up to see that very specific expression on his brother's face. "This war, whatever it is, has nothing to do with us, Sammy."

"We've got two renegade Angels on our hands and something big and ugly and out of our depth after you. I don't think we have a choice." He took a deep breath. "When you can walk straight you should go to Bobby's, see what he knows. He's expecting you anyways, he's already started getting parts together to fix the Impala."

Dean made a face. It wasn't that he didn't want to go see Bobby, but an apocalypse was outside of his job description.

That simple fact seemed to beyond the universe's range of sympathy and by the end of the week Dean was behind the wheel of a red, rental mustang with Castiel riding shotgun, wide eyed beside him, on their way to South Dakota. Eventually the sharpie would wear off and the denarians would be able to find Dean again- he wanted to keep someone around to do touchups as needed, at least that is what he was telling himself, because the truth behind his current company was a bit more confusing than that. Besides, Sam couldn't just up and leave work to resume hunting and the thought of taking Gabriel along elicited vaguely homicidal daydreams.

"I like this song." Cas said softly as the first strains of Metallica's 'Nothing Else Matters' pounded through the dinky speakers. Sam, in a offering of fraternal solidarity had burned a few CDs so that Dean would have something to listen to on the long drive.

"Damn right you do." And he cranked the volume up higher, smiling to himself. They were making good time, but he was still popping pills every few hours and they would need to stop for the night in a motel.

He had managed to avoid being alone with his thoughts and the Angel with varying levels of success since the afternoon they drew on each other. It wasn't that he didn't like the guy, in fact it was sort of the opposite, and that was what worried him.

They stopped at a roadhouse in Pennsylvania, Dean needed to refuel the car and his own body. "Come on, lunch time." He waited for the Angel to fumble the door open and catch up to him. "Cheese burgers and beers sound ok?" He never would have asked Sam, but Cas was not Sam.

"I don't like to eat."

That made Dean pause. He had just assumed, but really he had never seen the Angel eat. He had watched Gabe stuff his face more than once. It had never dawned on him that the food was for fun and not necessity. "Oh, well. You wanna try one? They're life changing."

"I doubt that." He said calmly. "When I was held captive they fed me enough to keep me alive, but more often than not it caused me to vomit."

"Geez, you've got to learn to be a bit more subtle." He pulled the door open. "Do you need food?"

He shrugged his narrow shoulders and followed Dean into the dim room, golden oldies coming through the familiar clank of cutlery and chatter of voices.

"Does your stomach ever hurt or growl?" Dean was starting to get the picture.

"Frequently." He watched Dean like he was not sure where this line of questioning was meant to lead.

"I'll get you some fries." And he picked a table for them in the corner, sitting down with his back to the wall so he could see the doors. The Angel was frowning slightly, but did not argue.

He ordered for both of them, two burgers a beer for him and a coffee for Cas, figuring that if the Angel really did not like or need food he could just eat everything.

The coffee was a no-go, even with a few packets of sugar, Cas sputtering and making faces, scraping his tongue against his teeth. "That's vile."

"Nectar of the gods." He chuckled, holding the battered ceramic mug in both hands and sipping at it. It actually was fairly awful coffee, but it was better than no coffee.

"God doesn't-"

"I know Cas. It's just a saying." He smiled into his burnt coffee.

The French fries went down much better and apparently the Angel was a catsup fiend, consuming more of the sticky red substance than fries.

"How are those treating you?

"They are not furry; I think that it adds to the experience." He answered, licking catsup from his thumb and index finger.

"…Furry?" He paused with his burger halfway to his mouth.

"Yes, the food I had eaten before, it was often green or gray and furry." He took some of Dean's fries without asking, swirling them through his lake of catsup before sucking them clean again, only to repeat the process. "These are much nicer."

"Fresher?" He offered, losing a bit of his appetite and setting his burger down on the plate, only half eaten.

"How does this compare?" He pointed with a soggy fry to his own untouched burger.

"It's like sex to kissing." He sipped at his beer. "Both nice, but one is definitely better."

"I- I don't care for kissing." He said carefully, finishing off Dean's fries.

Dean frowned at that. Who didn't like kissing? It was- well it was practically un-American. Kissing was one of the simplest pleasures anyone could take out of life. But then Dean remembered the brief story of furry food and his appetite was definitely gone. He did not even want to ask what the Angel's experience with kissing might be, he did not think he would be able to stomach it.

Cas approached the burger with skepticism, nibbling at the bun before taking a brave bite of vegetables and beef and bread, bacon and cheese and all the glorious things that go into making a proper burger. He got two whole chews in before his eyes fluttered closed and he made a sound that was positively indecent for public.

Dean choked on his beer, coughing and averting his gaze.

"I don't ever want to eat anything else." He whispered it as a sacred promise to his food before taking another slow bite. "You're beautiful." His eyes were lidded, dark and dreamy.

"Keep it down, Cas. They'll kick us out." But Dean was smiling, he couldn't help himself. He watched the Angel demolish his burger, occasionally whispering sweet nothings, then surreptitiously moving on to Dean's half eaten burger. He looked almost drugged, slunk low in his chair, eyes at half-mast, pupils slightly dilated, tongue lazily searching the corners of his lips for crumbs. Dean made a point to watch a waitress making her rounds, refilling water glasses as she went. She was too thin, her hair dark hair streaked with silver, pulled back into a loose bun, her makeup on too dark and thick for so early in the day. But she had a good smile and didn't spill the water- and was fundamentally safer to watch than the Angel sitting across from him.

"Another." He requested with his husky voice and thick.

"I think you've had enough." He counted out a handful of bills and tossed them onto the table, standing and helping Cas to his feet.

"Just one more?" He looked wistfully over at the table beside them to the other customers still eating their lunches.

"For dinner maybe." He promised and led him back to the car, smiling as the Angel kept casting hopeful glances back at the roadhouse. Cas fell asleep before they were back on the highway.


	6. Chapter 6

They stopped in Joliet, Illinois and really, they probably could have made it all the way to Davenport or even Cedar Rapids, but Dean was tired of driving. It was an almost blasphemous feeling, but it had been a rough week and his right leg hurt. He could take all the pills he wanted, but it was important to keep a certain balance between stabbing leg pain and the blissful, medicated cloud. So he pulled over in front of a flickering pink neon sign that read 'Eden Roc- vacancy', and with an Angel riding shotgun, it seemed about right… also he could see a dusty bar parking lot on the corner. Dean liked bars, and bars within walking distance were even better.

He left Cas sleeping in the car and went into the front desk. If the check-in counter was any indication, this place was shady as fuck, but Dean had been in worse. "Hello?" He called to the empty little closet of a room that had stained carpets, little tilted mountains of dated magazines, and cigarette burns on the pox marred counter. A squirrely looking man emerged through a back door, balding and about two-hundred pounds overweight, his eyes the color of muddy water were magnified behind the lenses of his crooked glasses.

"What d'ya want?" He looked at Dean like he was some sort of leper instead of a possible paying customer.

"A room." He didn't bother with a smile, but he tried not to sound annoyed either. "Two queens."

"Only have kings." But he was already getting out the registry book and turning it for Dean. "Fifty bucks a night."

Dean tossed down two twenties and a ten, signing his name 'Robert Plant' and grabbing the keys from the strangely sweaty man. He tapped on the window of the Mustang, startling Castiel awake. "Come on, princess." He smiled and watched the Angel pull himself from the car, blinking sleepily into the fading sunlight. "We get our bags in the room and then more burgers in you."

"I like this plan." He confirmed softly, stretching his arms above his head, shirt riding up just enough that Dean couldn't help but watch.

"Yeah…" He shook his himself and grabbed his duffle from the trunk, then turned and walked down the little line of rooms. They all looked the same, with tiny windows facing the street and brown doors that didn't look painted so much as just never cleaned. He picked the room with faded door numbers matching the little fob on his keys and let himself in. It was somehow worse than he had imagined. Still shady as fuck, dubious stains on the carpet and duvet- the duvet of the one, single bed. He made a point not to look at the Angel and he tossed his bag down, rummaging through it and pulling out a canister of salt. He laid a white line on the window sill and another against what almost passed as a window in the little cubicle of a bathroom. As far as he knew there were no demons in the area, but he had been wrong before.

Better safe than sorry.

"This place is… interesting." Cas said almost like he was trying not to offend Dean.

"I've stayed in worse." He looked sideways at the lone bed again and felt a little frown starting between his eyes. It was a problem he could face later, it would keep. The one, mocking bed wasn't going anywhere. "Come on, dinner." He checked to make sure his gun was secure at the small of his back, knife in his boot and wallet in his pocket.

"Burgers and catsup?" Castiel's eyes lit up at the prospect.

"You bet your boots."

Dean swallowed another pill while they walked to the corner. Bars didn't always serve real food, but the pervasive stink of grease was heavy in the air like an oily cloud and where there were fryers there were burgers.

It was a bit of a dive, a shoebox of a building, rough and unattractive, utilitarian in purpose. But it looked cleaner than the motel, so Dean was not going to complain about the aesthetics of it. There was a long, tall bar, a scattering of seven tables and an old pool table in the corner, its green felt all but worn away. It wasn't anything fancy, but the burgers tasted like manna from heaven. Even still, Dean spent more time watching Cas eating than actually touching his own food. The Angel was so caught up in his burger that the room could have been on fire and he would not have noticed. It meant that Dean really could stare all he wanted without repercussions.

It was voyeurism at its best.

It took almost five minutes for Dean to realize what he was doing. Watching a man slowly eating, repeatedly licking his lips and fingers. It was thick with- what would Sam call it- 'homoerotic subtext'? Yeah, Dean was eyeballs deep in subtext. He forcibly refocused on his own dinner not wanting to analyze what was wrong with him. It was probably just the pills.

Castiel sighed low, just a thick rumble that verged on a groan. It ran up Dean's spine like wildfire, leaving him feeling raw.

Yeah, he would be blaming the pills.

There was a cute little blonde at the bar, she was a little too old and a little too curvy for the sheath of a dress she had poured herself into, but her face was sweet and Dean never discriminated against chicks with soft lines. She was smiling at him over the top of some red, fruity drink. All lidded eyes and dark mascara. Dean smiled back, like a knee jerk reaction, something he didn't even get a choice in, his body acting on impulse and muscle memory. She winked, her glittery, teal eye shadow sparkling in the dim bar light.

Dean chuckled softly into his food. His face was still bruised, stitches white against his hair line, and the ladies were still sniffing around.

Castiel had perked up from the afterglow of his meal, his burger gone and his supply of fries all but depleted, his eyes slightly focused in on Dean and the lady straddling the bar.

"Do you know her?"

"Nah, never seen her before." He took the last bite of his burger, smiling around the food at the way Cas was watching him.

"She seems nice… happy."

"She's alone in a bar on a Tuesday night."

"And that means?" He tilted his head quizzically, at a loss as to the finer points of human behavior.

"Happy girls don't dress like that and sit alone." The Angel did not look as if he understood. "Desperate." Dean proclaimed wisely. "She's not happy, she's hopeful."

"Hopeful of what?"

He rolled his eyes. "Getting a ride home." He tried to steal one of Cas' fries and was rewarded with a glair so heavy that he let the little wedge of potato fall back to the plate.

The Angel's face softened and he relaxed now that his last few fries were no longer in danger. "Oh. I hope she finds one. She should not be walking in shoes like those."

"Damn right." Dean agreed, trying not to smile. He took a swig of beer and stood. "I'm gunna hit the head." He sighed. "I've got to take a piss." He clarified and saw the perplexed expression on the Angel. "Just stay here- an don't talk to strangers." He called over his shoulder, only half joking. Castiel really was a space case, in the most incorrigible, endearing sort of way, and because of that, Dean wouldn't put it past him to get taken home with strangers, buy timeshares in Florida or join a cult, if left alone for too long without supervision.

The curvaceous blonde met him in the little hallway that held a beaten old payphone and the doorway to the lone bathroom. She smiled at him, a little shy and hesitant, but bolstered by the liquid courage of alcohol.

"Hey there." Her voice was high, honey sweet and just this side of becoming annoying.

"Hey." And Dean was smiling again without his permission. It wasn't that he had anything against her, but he hadn't slipped to the back to meet up with her or anything like that either.

"Haven't seen you round here before." And she had a bit of a drawl that spoke of coming from somewhere much further south.

"Just passing through with my brother." He winced inwardly, but kept it from his face. He hadn't meant to say it- it was just the normal line he had given a million times while traveling with Sam. Cas could pass as his brother… he guessed? But she didn't seem to question the fact and took a little step closer.

"You leavin' town tonight?" She had a little pout on her cherry colored lips.

"Nope, here until morning." He smiled easily then, just falling into the familiar dance.

Apparently she took that as an invitation, because the next thing Dean knew her soft body was pressed firmly to his front, her mouth sticky against his, the taste of her drink still strong and sweet. Dean's hands found the curve of her hips, the fabric of her dress slick and pleasant. He gently detached her, licking his lips and not quite able to hold back a grin.

"Slow down there, sweetheart."

She was grinning back, her blue painted nails caught in the collar of his jacket and she walked backwards, pulling him with her, towards the bathroom. Dean marveled that she could move so gracefully in those sorts of shoes and that much booze in her. He wasn't thinking clearly, if he had been perhaps her exquisite coordination would have rung a few bells. But he was pushing her against the inside of the door, hand fumbling at the lock, mouth occupied with her hungry and eager lips. Her hands were working at his belt and it was quite alright with him. She was giggling, and ok, maybe her voice was a bit annoying, but the last time Dean had gotten any action was back in Vermont, sometime around a month ago. There was some saying about ports and storms that came to mind- and hey, Dean had needs.

It was all going fine, his libido taking the lead, adrenaline and pheromones heavy in the stale air, and she looked up at him with the darkest, most solid black eyes he had seen in quite some time.

"Oh hell no-" He hands were going for his gun and she had quite the grip on the straps of his belt, holding him uncomfortably in place, and his pants tight enough that his gun was digging a new bruise into his spine, but otherwise not budging.

"Relax. I'll be gentle." She blinked her eyes back to their previous pale blue, her coy smile somehow turning darker and more dangerous.

"You don't know who your messing with, bitch." His hand slipping to his jacket pocket to pull out the small silver flask he kept there.

"Don't I, Dean?" She said with a slow, teasing drawl.

He paused, the fingers of his left hand twisting open the cap.

"Imagine my surprise when I saw _the_ Dean Winchester supping with a little baby angel. Wont daddy be pleased?"

Dean took the opportunity to throw the holy water from his flask into her pretty painted face. She screamed, letting go of him and pressing her hands over her eyes. Dean fumbled to fix his pants while struggling through the well rehearsed Latin of the exorcism Sam had made him memorize. The door was shoved open, the dinky lock not even putting up a fight and two burly trucker sorts darkened the little doorway, summoned by the cries of a 'lady' in distress.

"Help!" The little blonde was crying, her makeup running. She was a girl, her dress was riding high on her creamy thighs, her makeup smeared and the tears couldn't be falling faster.

Dean suddenly became very aware that he looked a lot like the bad guy. He put his hands up, getting ready to explain, but the two big neck-less men did not seem in the mood to hear his side of the story. He got a punch to the gut and it nearly toppled him, all his air rushing out in a painful gasp. It hurt like hell, but Dean was getting used to it.

He was used to brawling; it was second nature, like salting and burning corpses, or necking in the backseat of a car, or hustling pool. He recovered from the sucker punch, jamming his elbow into the face of the dude on the left, bloodying his nose. The second guy got a clean left hook to the jaw and it was enough to distract them long enough to squeeze between the two men and out into the hall.

Castiel was still sitting at the table where he had been left, holding what was most likely an appletini (or at least that is what Dean thought the toxic green drink was called) and he was no longer alone.

She was the sort of girl that the hunter always knew to stay away from. She had long dark hair that hung over the collar of her black jacket and her leather pants were tight, her boots were scuffed, heavy combat issue. She didn't have too much makeup, not needing it for the oval face that was more handsome than conventionally beautiful. She was the sort of woman who rode motorcycles, had interesting tattoos and liked to top during sex that bordered on illegal. She was hot, but she was trouble. She was a predator, and she had found the perfect sort of prey in the little Angel.

"Cas, we need to go." He was grabbing at the other man.

"Dean, this is Charlotte." He said in such a polite way it was startling. Now was not the time.

"Cas, there's trouble." He looked over his shoulder, seeing the two men he had punched coming out of the hall, murder in their eyes. "Fuck me."

"No need to rush it, we've got all night." Charlotte said with a heat in her voice that made Dean feel almost gooey, then he looked at her, and damn it all if her eyes weren't sleek demon black too.

Dean really wished that he had come prepared for demons. But he was out of holy water and his gun would do little more than annoy them and possibly get him arrested if he survived. The two big bruisers from the bathroom found him, grabbing him from behind.

At least they were human.

Small mercies.

He figured he was on his own against the men and all he could do was keep his footing and hope that the demons didn't decide to jump in. If he didn't have a couple broken ribs he would have been doing better, but the men were roughly twice his size, and two against one had never made for a fair fight. Especially not when a Winchester was involved. He fought like his dad had taught him, hit 'em fast and hit 'em hard.

They never stood a chance.

He threw the second man off, panting slightly, his shoulder aching where it felt like he pulled something.

The tussle had taken roughly half a minute and it was just enough time for other bar patrons to take up interest and come over with the intention of intervening. By the time that the first man Dean had felled was coming back to his feet he found himself surrounded by people. He came to his feet swinging and the next thing Dean knew they had a full out bar brawl on their hands.

Dean turned to Cas, wanting to drag him away from the demon Charlotte, but he was too late. Castiel had the woman on her knees beside the table, his hands on her face and she was weeping openly as the sick black cloud boiled past her lips. The bar was dim, bedlam was tearing through the small crowd and luckily no one noticed the exorcism. Cas let go of the woman, letting her gently down beneath the table. He turned to Dean, looking surprisingly fierce.

"Dean-" his lips formed the familiar syllable, but it was inaudible in the chaos.

Dean shook his head, trying to grab the Angel and get out before the little blonde demon came out of the bathroom. Castiel pulled free, pushing Dean to the side and punching the man behind him with a solid blow.

It slowed Dean down for a moment and he stood idly while he watched the seemingly delicate Angel punch out another man before turning back to him, his mouth pulled tight and his eyebrows low. "Can we order more fries before we leave?"

"Hell no." He grabbed Cas' forearm and pulled him from the bar, running round to the back of the building and dashing through the litter strewn alleys towards their motel. They slammed into the room, Dean hastily laying a line of salt at the base of the door. He dropped the canister and slumped against the wall, struggling to recover, eyes fixed and unblinking. His heart continued to try and pound its way out of his chest, pumping feverish blood around his body, his breath stuttering its way out in staccato puffs.

Castiel was pacing, but the room was not large and five steps brought him back right in front of Dean. His eyes were bright and agitated, little blossoms of red coloring his usually pale cheeks. "She was a demon."

"No shit."

"She bought me a drink!" The Angel was standing closer than Dean usually let any man stand, his little brother included. He was fuming, anger making his thin frame tremble. He was strangely cute when he was angry.

"It's cuz you're so cute." He bit his tongue. He had not intended for that to come out, but the Angel did not seem to take notice, or if he did it did not give him pause.

"She had her hands on me-"

"She what?"

"She was this close." And the Angel managed to lean in even more, his chest brushing against Dean with each sharp inhale. "Breathing on me." He felt a need to demonstrate that too, bringing their faces within an inch of each other.

"Breathing?" His mouth was dry.

"And I never noticed."

"Never?" His blood was singing through him, hammering in his ears. Cas smelt better than normal, his warm earthy smell had been enhanced by the bitter tang of booze, apples and hamburgers. Dean felt himself swaying into the warmth of the other man. There was not enough blood in his brain to not lean closer.

"She was a demon, Dean. She touched me. She made me dirty and I never even knew what she was." The anger was boiling away and his shoulders sagged. He leaned fully against Dean, pushing him into the wall and sighing like he was breathing out all the troubles of the world. "Is it acceptable for humans to touch each other when feeling distressed?"

"Yeah." They were still just a breath apart, all he had to do was tilt his head a fraction and rock forward. But then they would be kissing. Dean would be kissing a boy- er, a man- an Angel. An Angel who had already mentioned a disdain for kissing- and Dean- Dean had never had any sexual thoughts that could be construed as anything other than HETEROsexual. Except once, when he was nineteen and he had an extraordinarily erotic dream about the Impala turning into a woman- but that didn't really count, it was more _auto_-erotic than anything else. It didn't count against him. His sudden barrage of filthy thoughts involving an Angel did however count.

"Yeah." And his voice was wrecked, showing much more of his inner struggle than his body did… he hoped "It's fine, Cas."

And the Angel went almost limp, his head falling heavy on Dean's shoulder, all the fight gone right out of him.

Dean had no idea what to do with his hands. He wasn't good at this touchy feely shit, but at least the angel wasn't crying. Dean really would have been lost if there were tears. He carefully put his arms around the other man, awkwardly patting his lower back and just letting him stay there, warm and very solid against him.

"I feel so dirty." His voice was muffled against Dean's shoulder.

"Go get a shower." It had been long enough since running from the bar. They were probably safely hidden away in the sleazy motel. "You'll feel better."

The Angel looked up, not separating their bodies even a hair. "Will I?"

"Definitely." And Dean was at risk of leaning again, of bridging that gap and seeing if the other man tasted anything like he smelled. He let his head knock softly against the door, eyes finding the ceiling and he gently detached the Angel from around his middle. "Go ahead; I'll keep a look out."

Castiel nodded solemnly, just trusting Dean as he always had, turning away and vanishing into the little bathroom.

Leaving behind Dean Winchester, captain of his own soul, even if his pants were attempting to stage a mutiny.

There was a mirror on the ceiling he noted distantly.

A fucking mirror.

Dean pushed his hands through his hair and felt something close to a frustrated sob building in the back of his throat. He took the little pill bottle from his pocket and buried it in the bottom of his duffle. He sat on the edge of the bed, cleaning his gun and listening to the drumming of the shower.

It was sort of zenful, just cleaning and not thinking about the naked man on the other side of the wall. Because really? Now that they were no longer pressed against the wall and Dean's body had a chance to calm down, the whole thing seemed ridiculous. He had a crush on an Angel? No- no way. He was a straight as they came. So incredibly, irreversibly straight.

The shower turned off. "Dean?" Castiel's low voice carried surprisingly well through the door. Very thin walls.

"Yeah?" He set the gun on the little table beside the bed.

"My clothes smell like her. I don't want to put them back on… also the towels are very scratchy."

Dean felt himself smiling. He got off the bed and dug in his bag, looking for something for Cas to wear. The only jeans had a rip up the leg and bloodstains on the knees- he had been meaning to fix or burn them at some point. They would be stopping at a thrift store the next day before going on to Sioux Falls. He passed a handful of clothes through the cracked bathroom door and flipped on the tv, admiring the static that ran in horizontal lines over the commercial for chips. He sat back on the edge of the bed and made a point not to look at the door.

Cas came out of the steaming room in a cloud of condensation, his legs looking particularly long and pale in contrast to the boxers.

Dean's boxers.

Navy blue and luckily long enough to be seen from under the t-shirt that hung from his thin shoulders.

Dean looked hard at the tv, harder than he had ever looked at one before. "You can have the bed." He nodded slightly over his shoulder, silently reminding himself of how unspeakably straight he was. Whatever was in his pills that was playing havoc with his body would eventually wear off and he could stop freaking out.

Castiel pulled back the blankets, crawling in and sighing softly. "Where will you sleep, Dean?"

Somehow words failed him. Where would he sleep? He could just stay awake… maybe sleep out in the car- but with demons lurking around maybe that was a bad idea.

"There is enough room for you too."

Dean risked a look over his shoulder and felt something warm settle between his ribs. Cas had settled down beneath the blankets, pulling them up almost to his nose, peeking out at Dean with his intense gaze.

He was on the verge of arguing. He had so many reasons as to why that was a bad plan. But they all paled in the face of the fact that this would probably be the only night that they would have alone together. Not that Dean was planning to take advantage of that in any deviously carnal way. It was the only chance he would have to indulge himself in just being _close_ to the other man without someone there giving him the stink eye and judging him.

It didn't have to be gay.

He kicked off his boots, leaving his jeans on. He flicked the tv off, then the yellow tinted light, fumbling with the bed covers and pulling them back in the darkness. He lay down, taking his pillow and settling it between them for safety.

"You're good at fighting." Cas' voice was extra soft in the dark.

"Thanks." He said with a questioning lit. "You're… good at casting our demons."

"They do not like being touched by Angels… even former ones." He shifted, the bed sinking slightly.

Dean could understand that. He had very mixed feeling on the subject himself.

"I used to be able to do it with a word, I did not have to touch them." He sighed again. "Now I cannot even sense when they are sitting beside me."

"I can't either." Dean offered. He lost track of how many times a demon got the drop on him.

"But you're a human." The Angel explained gently. "You're numb from the hair down."

"Hey-"

"Please don't be offended. It is simply part of being you."

"Gee, thanks, Cas. That's only mildly insulting."

"I like that part of you." He assured softly. "But I like it as part of you, not part of me."

"You handled yourself pretty well tonight, even without any Angel mojo going for you."

"Thank you." He reached across the pillow of safety, his fingers brushing along Dean's bicep. "Your skin is cold." And without being asked, he pulled the blankets up over Dean. "Sleep well."

Despite the instruction, Dean slept badly. Every little shift of the Angel reminded him of how close they were. For years of his childhood, Dean had shared a motel bed with Sam, sleeping inches apart while their dad had the other bed. It had never been a big deal, why would it?

But this was different.

Worlds different.

He passed the border between wakefulness and dreamless sleep sometime around dawn.

When he woke he was engulfed in a quiet sort of warmth, like sunlight on a spring day, settling down into his bones, masking every ache and pain that he had grown accustomed to. It was such a solidly good feeling, engulfing and peaceful and wholly unfamiliar. It took Dean a while to put a name to it.

He felt… safe.

He remained still, listening to his own steady breaths and the soft thrumming of a heat beat that may or may not have been his own. He turned his face reluctantly, opening his eyes enough that he should have been able to see if how much sunlight was filtering into the room. All he got was an eye full of blurring, liquid shadow.

He was wrapped up in Castiel's wings.

He looked the other way and there was the Angel's chest. Dean was being held against the Angel and when he realized that, he became aware of the arms around him as well as the unspeakable softness of the dark feathers.

Cas was still sleeping, Dean was sure of it. Last night had been possibly his only night to just relax around the other man and ignore those social rules that the Angel did not seem to know anyways.

Likewise, this was his only morning to do the same.

He pulled an arm around Cas, pushing his face into the softly sloping ribs and just letting himself relax. Sam never needed to know.

Maybe Sam already did. He was keeping Gabe and it was quite possible that he had found himself cocooned in the safety of a full body Angel hug.

Dean would never ask.

It wasn't his business, just as his very manly cuddle was none of Sam's business.

And damn it, if this was the only time that Dean planned to allow himself to be this relaxed and uninhibited, he would make the most of it. He slid his hands up the Angel's back, feeling the subtle ripple of his spine and the soft bow of his shoulder blades where his wings grew. He touched the arching curve of bone, feeling the short feathers bending beneath his fingers and snapping back into place. He let his fingers explore, marveling at how much the giant things had healed up in the week and a half since he had crash landed on Dean's car. They were smooth as silk, the new feathers growing back in noticeable patches of oddly short feathers. Those patches were by no means unpleasant.

A man could become addicted to a touch like this, smooth but pliant and oh so silky. He did not just feel the feathers against his skin. It was like the sensation reverberated down the nerves, sliding into his spine, slipping between his bones and joints and taking up permanent residence.

Cas made a soft, aborted sound in the back of his throat, shifting, one of his legs sliding between Dean's knees. His back arched up into Dean's hands, a plaintive whine being dragged out of him.

Dean stopped dead, his hands fluttering somewhere lower, safer and less pleasant to touch. "You awake, Cas?"

He was rewarded with another strange sound, the heavy black wings shifting and splaying wide, letting in shards of early afternoon sunlight. The Angel flopped onto his back, eyes wide and on the verge of panic. Dean could see him sprawled out in the mirror over head.

"I can see myself." Castiel whispered hoarsely, arms open wide, mimicking the dim mess of his wings.

"Yep." Dean pressed his hands to his face, smelling the residual Angel aroma as covertly as possible. "You've seen mirrors before, Cas.

"This is new and uncomfortable."

Dean lowered his hands in time to see the Angel sliding a hand between his own legs, tentatively touching himself. Dean was up, sitting on the farthest edge of the bed and fixing his gaze on the wall for all he was worth. "That- that happens sometimes."

"I don't like it."

And what do you say to something like that? Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and calmly explained the how toos and why fors of the awkward morning erection. He hadn't felt this particular classification of awkward since Sam was thirteen and came to Dean for advice. This was better and worse than that talk in many indescribable and unique ways. But someone needed to tell the man how to deal with these things and there was no one else at the ready.

The Angel listened with only the occasional question and Dean quickly ran out of practical advice and basic technique to pass on. The room got unbearably quiet and Dean risked a glance up at the ceiling and really wished that he hadn't.

"Cas, no!"

"No?" His voice was thready and distant.

"Never with anyone else in the room." Somehow he had missed that vital bit of wisdom. "Showers are your friend."

"What?"

"Take it into the other room and don't come out until you're done." He instructed firmly.

"And think about someone I like?" He whispered, the bed shifting as he staggered to his feet.

It was a little funny that _that_ was one of the only bits of advice that he clung to. "Yup."

"Someone like you?"

"No." His voice broke in an interesting way.

"But… I like you." The Angel was lingering in the doorway to the bathroom, Dean could feel the gaze burrowing into the back of his head like a drill bit.

"Not me."

"Alright." He sounded resigned and closed the door behind him.

Dean rubbed his face roughly and the smell off the Angel was still there on his hands. He ran the pads of his thumbs over his lower lip, but all he could taste was his own skin.

Cas made a strangely delicious sound over the white noise of the shower and Dean was on his feet, grabbing his boots and fleeing the room, falling into the safety of the rental Mustang.

Dean stopped at a doughnut shop, got himself a bearclaw, a strong cup of coffee and swung by a Goodwill that he had seen from the freeway. He bought a few pairs of jeans, two flannels and a yellow windbreaker (because awkward man-crush aside, Dean was still an ass) for Castiel. By the time he got back to the motel the Angel was slack on the bed, sprawled out like a starfish, dressed in Dean's boxers and naught else, an uncharacteristically blissful expression on his face.

"That was better than hamburgers." He said with a soft sort of glow to his voice, for some strange reason wanting to let Dean know how it all went.

Dean tossed the bag at Cas, feeling satisfied at the soft 'wuh' that followed impact. "Get dressed and let's blow this popsicle stand."

"Popsicle?" He sat up, hardly this side of lucid.

"It's just a saying." He sighed, turning away so the Angel could pull himself into proper clothes. "Come on, we've got twelve hours of driving ahead of us and we slept in."

"Am I allowed to touch myself while in the car?"

"What?" he almost turned around, but thought better of it. "No, Cas. Just…No."

"You said not in rooms with other people. Is a car the same as a room?" He came around Dean's side, fully dressed and cute as an angelic button.

"It's exactly the same." He grabbed his bag and opened the door. "Come on, and keep your hands where I can see 'em."


	7. Chapter 7

The drive would have been incredibly silent and awkward if it weren't for the CDs that Sam had made for him. Classic rock ferried the hunter and the Angel up past Lake Michigan with hardly more than five words spared between them. It wasn't that Dean didn't like small talk, because he really didn't. It wasn't even that he felt uncomfortable about that morning (though it was still in the back of his mind)- it was just that he couldn't think of anything good to say.

He had toyed with the idea of playing twenty questions or some other stupid driving game, but he doubted that Castiel would have had much skill at it. Despite the promise of an almost guaranteed win, Dean couldn't find the will to offer.

It was a chilly afternoon though the sky was a clear watery blue that stretched on forever. Their shared lunch of freetos and beef jerky from a gas station could not easily be confused with satisfying, but it was filling. They ate while Dean drove, the cold water of the Great lakes dominating the view from the right side of the car.

"These are very…" Cas trailed off, his voice strangely loud after so long of not speaking.

Dean glanced over and saw the Angel looking curiously at the handful of freetos, a strange look on his face.

"They make my tongue itch." He finished slowly.

"Like allergic reaction itchy?" Dean felt the mild strains of worry building low in his stomach. Because really? Anaphylactic shock brought on by corn chips would just suck, not to mention be incredibly inconvenient.

Cas looked at him in confusion. "They make me thirsty," he clarified.

"Here," Dean passed over his cherry slurpie. "Salty, Cas. Not itchy. They're salty."

The Angel struggled with the straw for a moment before getting the hang of it, then he just look surprised and stared into the red slush for a heartbeat. "Salty." He repeated finally with a slow nod.

He did not give back the slurpie.

Dean let him have it. And Sam had always called him selfish. Ha.

"So…" He attempted to fill the silence. Even without Sam as a travelling companion to talk to as the miles dragged on endlessly, Dean ended up talking to himself. There was only so long he could go without hearing human speech, even if it was his own. "How do you get along with your brother?"

Cas took the straw from between his lips long enough to give Dean another one of his confused expressions. "Which one?"

"Gabriel?" Dean didn't know that there were more brothers lurking around somewhere. He tried to imagine them as strangely and slightly off beat family of Angels. Reunions would be weird.

"Gabriel." Cas repeated the name softly and scrunched up his nose a little. "He is my older brother and I would not speak ill of him." He chose his words carefully.

"He seemed to really like you." But Gabriel seemed to really like most people and things. He was just… peppy. It probably stemmed from the gratuitous amount of sugar he consumed.

"He is a friendly individual."

"I hear a 'but' in there."

"I did not say _but_." Cas informed him in his deadpan way.

And Dean smiled at that. He really was like talking to an alien sometimes. "He's a friendly individual, BUT…" He trailed off, waiting for the Angel to get the idea.

"Oh," he nodded after a strange pause. "But… he left under tense circumstances. He is still my brother, and I do not know how much I can trust him."

"Is that why you punched him in the face when you first woke up?"

Cas got quiet again and Dean almost started to repeat himself, assuming that the Angel had not heard him.

"Since I fell I have started to… feel… things. Things I am not used to."

Dean did not know what to say to that, but he thought back to the morning and having to uncomfortably explain the birds and bees. Cas had honestly seemed confused as to what his body was doing.

"The things he said to me… I felt anger. Anger at seeing him again after so many of your months, seeing him so well and happy when I had spent so long in misery. My actions surprised me. I had not intended to strike him."

And that was something Dean could fully understand. Many times in the rougher part of his teenage years he had suddenly found himself in the midst of a full knock out- drag down fight with his own brother, and if anybody asked why they were trying to kill each other… well, Dean still didn't have answers. He had just been angry.

"Those sorts of things happen, dude. It's just part of being human- being family." He quickly amended.

"Stop." Cas' voice was sharp and commanding.

It took Dean off guard and he closed his mouth with an audible click of teeth. He frowned, hands strangling the steering wheel as he tried to figure out where he went wrong. He really just was crap at these sorts of things.

"Dean, stop."

"Damn it, Cas, I didn't say anything that time."

"The vehicle, Dean! Stop!" The Angel didn't do yelling well, or maybe he did it too well, his real voice creeping into those words in a painfully loud rumble.

Dean's ears popped and he hastily changed over three lanes of traffic to pull onto the shoulder of the highway with a screech of tiers and gravel. Cas abandoned the slurpie, leaving the car and a cherry red mess behind.

The only thing around them were straggly pines, gravel, a bit of a drop off and one of the largest lakes in the world. Dean swore, grabbing his gun from under the seat and holding it close to his body, with the hope of hiding it from passing cars, as he barreled out his door and after the Angel who was disappearing through the copse of trees towards the waterfront.

"Cas, hold on." Dean's words were ripped from him into the lung chilling air, the bite of cold stinging his cheeks and making it hard to breathe. "Fuckin' wait up!"

He literally ran into Castiel as he rounded a particularly fat pine. They toppled and Dean managed to catch himself with a knee in the gravel and one hand gripping the tree's branches, the needles breaking and leaving a smear of sap on his fingers and palm.

"Damn it, Cas." He growled with what remained of his breath.

The Angel was face down in the loose rocks, arms awkwardly spayed out at his sides. Apparently Angels did not know how to catch themselves. Dean helped him to his feet, hiding a wince when he saw the rough cuts on the underside of his chin, little flashes of bright red already welling up and running sluggishly down his throat.

"Are you ok?"

"Can you feel that?" His voice was tight, though from excitement or pain, it was difficult to tell.

Dean almost said no without thinking, but he took in another too cold breath and tried to see if he could 'feel' anything.

There was a piercing wind coming off the lake, flying through him like he was nothing more substantial than a sheet of paper. His hand burned a little and his knee was throbbing dully, then there was the distant, but unrelenting ache of his ribs, head and foot.

The Sun was too far away, limning them in wan light, not enough to provide any warmth. The only heat Dean felt was coming from the Angel beside him, a sort of fevered, burning up feeling that ate at his side even with the inches separating them.

Dean felt many things, but none of them useful, none of them seemed to be what the Angel was looking for.

He shook his head slowly.

"I can feel it." And it was excitement, his eyes alight and his breaths catching in little bursts of condensation that were ripped away by the wind. "I can feel her."

"Her?" The last 'her' they had come across had flattened the Atlantic and flipped over his car. He settled his gun firmly between both hands, looking about for something to aim at.

"God, I can feel her." His words were no more than a whisper on the wind and Dean had a feeling that Cas was no longer talking to him.

And Dean finally saw it, started to hear it over the whine and rush of nature and distant cars. There was a streak of light somewhere in the troposphere and if he had not been staring desperately around for signs of danger, Dean would have missed it. It was a blur, a white and gold blip that was gaining speed. It hit a few yards away, landing with a cracking sound that shook the trees around them and Cas was running again.

Dean followed, he couldn't stop himself.

The first thing he saw in the small crater of dirt and stone was the blood. Good lord, there was a lot of blood. It had splattered the foliage and was pooling up around the limp, pale body in the center of the destruction.

It was another Angel.

Dean stopped short, his boots slipping a bit and he watched his own Angel scamper down to the fallen woman. She was clothed in white that would have put bleach commercials everywhere to shame- if it weren't for the dark red stains spreading hungrily over her. The blood matched her hair redder than red, her skin was the color of cream and the pike through her chest looked horrendously wrong- like a morbid sort of prop laid down as an afterthought to the scene set out for them. It was a black, twisted ugly thing, and just looking at it made Dean feel ill. Through the rip of her gown the flesh of her chest looked rotted and diseased where it touched the thick blade.

Cas was talking to her, his voice high and terrified as it tumbled over their strange angelic language.

It hurt somewhere deep in Dean's chest. He wanted to tell the man they were obviously too late, she was gone, but he couldn't force his mouth to make the words.

Then something surprising happened. She opened her eyes and started coughing blood like water, it running thick and too dark down her face. She was trying to speak, tears in her eyes as she looked at the other Angel who was attempting to pull her into his lap. One long fingered hand reached out, almost high enough to touch one of the arms encircling her, but then she shuttered and her eyes closed again.

Dean had seen death, many more times in his life than he would care to count. It had a very specific feel to it, a look and a smell that was unquestionable, once you knew it, it never left you, no matter how much you wish it would. He knew this part. He had seen it happen with the other fallen Angels he had found.

He scrambled down the small crater, grabbing Castiel and roughly pulling him away from the other Angel. Cas made a bad sound, something wild and broken torn from his throat and he fought against the man trying to help him.

"Cas, we need to get down." Already he could feel her death growing. It started with a light, something pure and blinding that you could sense more than see, building like a gale, bearing down like a wave.

And Cas was yelling at him, but it wasn't in English, so the words were lost. Dean couldn't pull him away more than a few feet, there just wasn't time. He fell to into a crouch, tugging the Angel down with him and holding him tight, hiding his own face in the hunch of Cas' shoulders while he pressed the man's face into his chest.

The Angel's death rattle struck them like a train, cracking full force against the pair and pushing them down into the gravel, sliding them away, leaving a trench of stone and dirt in their wake. Even with his eyes closed tight and hidden, the world turned white like a nova. It hurt, and not just from the rocks flung against them like hail. It was the pressure of a sonic boom, fueled by a heart wrenching pain and misery so deep seated that last time it had hit Dean he had found himself in a depressed funk for almost a week afterwards.

When the world stopped shaking and Dean could move again, he looked up, losing his grip and blinking wildly up at the sky, the sting of tears on his face. Cas was not moving other than a fine tremor running up and down his spine. Dean smoothed hands over him, like you would with a spooked horse, whispering soft things that he did not know if the other man could even hear. He risked looking over his shoulder where the woman had fallen. All that was left were sooty burns, roughly in the shape and outline that one would expect from and Angel, the marks from her wings marring the landscape in a twelve foot span around her body, the shadow of individual feathers still visible against the pale stones. No blood was left, even most of the strange weapon that had struck her down had burnt up in the blast. The shaft was no more than a memory, the blade lying twisted and foul in the center of the burn scar.

"Come on, Cas." Dean slowly climbed to his feet, shaking and not at all ok. "We can't stay here."

The Angel either couldn't or wouldn't hear him, preferring to stay crouched amidst the gravel, hugging himself and making soft, aborted sounds. Dean pulled him to his feet, letting him crumble against his shoulder as they staggered back to the car.

They sat in the little Mustang, not saying a word, the rush of the other cars shaking them slightly as the displaced air of their passing pressed on them. Cas had grown silent, adopting a thousand yard stare, his eyes red and angry with unshed emotion and Dean would have started the engine and driven far from this place if he could pull himself together.

The dead Angel's grief was still burning through him like a frost, icy pangs clinging to his insides, so cold it almost felt hot, numbing him and destroying little bits of warmth he once held dear. It would pass, even the memory would fade and dim with time, but right now if was raw. It was similar to how he had felt when John had died, that destructive and devastating pain that felt like it could never heal. But this wasn't his; it belonged to the Angel who had passed on to where ever heavenly creatures go when they die.

It didn't make it feel any less real and personal.

He took in a breath that almost sounded like a sob and chided himself, closing his eyes tight and counting to ten, trying to shove off the parasitical emotions.

"I felt her." Cas' voice was as rough as ever, distant and flat.

Dean nodded, not trusting his voice as he struggled to just take in deep even breaths.

"I felt her inside of me. God… I can still smell her. I don't want this. I can't- this is too much." And the words of his prayer broke and fell into a separate language that Dean could only guess at.

They sat like that for hours. Castiel praying without pause or answer and Dean silently falling apart beside him.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun was sinking, heavy, practically kissing the horizon, when they stopped in Tomah, Wisconsin. Dean didn't have it in him to go any further. He found a motel, something small and cheep and quite a bit nicer than the last place they stayed. There were still dubious stains on the low pile carpet, but the sheets on the two beds were clean and smelled like bleach. And, you know… two beds. After lines of salt were laid against the windows and doorway Dean went so far as to kick off his boots before laying face down on the bed nearest the exit.

Cas sat on the other bed, his prayers had run dry and distantly Dean wondered if the Angel had received some sort of answer, but he couldn't bring himself to ask.

Sleep was illusive at best and just as Dean was starting to fade away his cell phone started yelling at him. He considered ignoring the call, but very few people had his number, so it was probably important.

"Yeah?" He grumbled, blinking into the dark of the room. He could make out Cas' shadow still sitting on the edge of the second bed, still awake, but he had not bothered to turn on the light.

"Dean." Sam's voice came down the line, all small and diminished. "Hey, I called Bobby's and he said he hasn't seen you yet. Everything ok?" Aw, Sam was checking in on him. It was kind of nice to be reminded that he had family and was not actually alone.

"Yeah, we stopped in Wisconsin for the night." He rubbed his face, grimacing as he felt the last tendrils of sleep receding.

"Wow… have you been following the speed limit or something?" The worry in his brother's voice had faded, replaced with amusement.

"No." He scoffed at the idea, but it came out sounding hollow. "We just ran into a bit of trouble out near Racine."

"What kind of trouble?" And the worry was back just like that.

Dean looked over at Castiel again, the Angel had not budged an inch, dark eyes fixed on the hands folded carefully over his knees. "Nothing I couldn't handle." He assured.

"How's Cas?" He had adopted the nickname as well, but Dean didn't care for how it sounded coming from his brother.

To tell the truth or not?

"Cas? He's fine." Nope, no truth. It seemed best to not to bring it up in detail… just in case the Angel could actually hear him from the distant land he had checked out to.

"Good. His brother's worried about him."

"Yeah, I'm sure the little creep is." He rubbed at his face again, stifling a yawn. Sam chuckled all warm and soft and for a moment it fought off the icicles that had grown up in Dean's chest.

"You sound like hell."

"I feel like hell." He assured so that there would be no doubt.

"Call me when you get to Bobby's?"

"Sure, Samantha. I wouldn't want you losing any sleep over lil' old me."

"Night, Jerk."

"Night, Bitch." He said with more affection than he intended to put out. Talking to Sam was like taking a sledge hammer to the deep seeded sorrow that had pooled in his gut. He never said the actual words, but he really did love the bid dumb moose of a brother he had been saddled with. He closed his phone and tossed it onto the nightstand between the beds, clicked the light on and sat up.

He rummaged through his bag, finding the bottle of Jack he had stashed away and sitting back against the headboard. Artificial warmth was better than nothing. He took a swig and pulled his lips back from his teeth, hissing softly as the heat traveled downward, trailing flecks of gold over his insides.

"Hey…" he started after his third pull from the bottle. "How you holding up?"

Cas stirred, like coming up from a trance, shaking himself just a bit and letting his eyes meet Dean's. "I feel like hell." He repeated Dean's earlier sentiments to his brother but he said it much more like he really meant it.

"Here," Dean held out the bottle, shaking the amber liquid slightly.

"I don't think that alcohol is the solution, Dean."

"It's always the solution, you just haven't been around long enough to know." He slid off his bed and set down beside the Angel, foisting the bottle closer.

Cas watched him with that stony gaze and slowly opened his mouth. He was waiting, just like he had when Dean had fed him vicodine after the fall. Dean's breath came sharp through his nose and he had half an inclination to just go back to his own bed- but it wasn't like they hadn't done it before. He shifted his hold on the bottle, tilting it to the Angel's mouth, the knuckle of his index finger settling on the underside of his lower lip. It was a small sip, but it was enough to send Cas sputtering and coughing, leaning away from the bottle like it might bite him.

"That's awful." His voice was raw.

"You drank it too fast." Dean was trying with little success to hide a smile. "Here, come on." He held the bottle back out and was pleasantly surprised when the Angel eyed him warily but got closer once more. "Just a bit this time." They repeated the assisted drinking, it going down much smoother.

The Angel sat back with a scowl and grumbled, "it still tastes awful."

"But is it warm?"

"Yes," He said haltingly. "But I wasn't cold."

Dean took another drink. "Neither was I, but it covers a multitude of sins."

"Sins." He said softly, watching Dean's face. "Do you have many sins, Dean?"

"Too many to count." As soon as he said it he felt guilty. He didn't really want to confess his sins to a man of God. Not to a priest and not to an Angel. He didn't want to share them and he didn't want to be forgiven. They were his- they were part of him.

Cas didn't say anything for five or six heartbeats, then he nodded slowly. He reached out, hand closing over Dean's and the bottle of whisky as he guided the hunter to give him another drink. The Angel made a face. "Then I will indulge with you and perhaps it will count as penance for us both."

"To penance." He said by way of a toast. And if Dean stumbled over those words at all he was the only one to notice.

They drank and watched late night children's programming. It was some weird thing with computer animated trains that talked, and under any other circumstance Dean would have been annoyed by it, but not with a fifth of whisky churning against the darkness that had taken up residence within him.

The show was fucking hilarious.

He sat beside Cas, their bodies touching from shoulder to hip and knee to ankle, sharing the bed and the whisky. The Angel was not affected in the same way as Dean, he wasn't rosy cheeked or smiling at the cartoon, but he drank just the same, trading shot for shot, keeping pace. He took the whisky like some people take medicine, scrunching up his nose and running his tongue over his teeth. But he never actually took the bottle, just kept a hand on Dean's, guiding him when it was his turn, or helping Dean when it was his own.

Dean had never gotten drunk in a motel room quite like this, and he doubted that he ever would again. He certainly couldn't imagine his brother being willing to watch Thomas the damn Train while feeding each other shoots. Likewise, if Sam offered, Dean had the feeling that he would be quick to decline.

The credits rolled on the show, getting small in the corner while a hand puppet shaped like a lumpy star announced the next show and then encouraged them to get up and dance while bouncy music played. Cas started to slide off the bed, looking fully prepared to do a 'wiggle dance' along with the small, ethnically varied, preschool children.

"Whoa there." Dean caught him by the sleeve and pulled him back.

"But, Dean. The wishing star told us to get up."

"That fat little bastard has no power here."

"Don't hurt his feelings, Dean."

Castiel was sloshed.

Dean grinned and tucked the man in beside him, setting the bottle down near his cell and putting his arm around the Angel's shoulders. "Just watch the dancing, don't participate."

He harrumphed, sending a puff of air along Dean's cheek as he settled his head on Dean's shoulder and they grew quiet. Cas was watching his shows with all the rapt attention a drunk man could manage and Dean watched him.

They were practically cuddling.

In a very manly way, mind you.

The manliest of cuddles.

Like the kind that men do in the arctic wilderness for warmth.

Cas still smelled like early fall, his hair tickling Dean's nose. And god was it good, but that was mostly just the whisky talking. Liquid courage had always got Dean in trouble, at least where ladies were concerned. Part of him was considering making an amendment to his list to include awkward Angels. He leaned down a fraction of an inch and let his mouth brush along the mess of dark hair. He then realized what he was doing and forced his eyes to the small tv screen, watching a cartoon mouse who was also a ballerina, and Dean guessed that he could be ok with that. There were no laws against mouse ballerinas.

The show was disgustingly pink.

Maybe there _should_ be laws against it.

"Dean?" Cas' voice was incredibly pleasant from so close, like a mild electrical current running through the length where their bodies connected.

"Yeah?" He made a point not to look down, not trusting himself suddenly.

"Dean?" Cas insisted.

"What?"

"You were right."

"Probably… about what?"

"I feel better now."

"Told you you would. It's cuz I am always right."

"Always?" There was no doubt, just pleasant acceptance.

"Yep." He risked looking down and wished that he hadn't. Cas was looking up at him, eyes as blue as the sea, bright and deep and waiting- and Dean found himself leaning, pulled in like the gravity of the moon pulls the tides. Cas was watching him as he inched closer, gaze steady and uncomprehending.

And if the Angel had been giving him come-hither eyes, or looked hopeful or anything like that at all then Dean would have kept going. Instead he back out at the last second and rolled his head back, watching the ceiling whilst reevaluating his life.

"It is fortunate that I found you. It is good to have a guide through my stay, however long or short it may be."

Dean didn't like that. It sounded too much like the Angel would be leaving at some point. Sam had gotten to keep Gabe for over a year and it looked like the little monster had no intention of leaving anytime soon. Dean wanted to keep his Angel too. He looked down at Cas, who was still watching him with those damned eyes. Dean swallowed what little pride he had left and kissed the man's forehead. It meant a lot of things, all sorts of things that refused to have words applied to them.

Those blue eyes blinked up at him in confusion. He wore the emotion well. "What was that?"

"A kiss, now watch your fucking show." He was successful in keeping his smile off that time.

The episode almost ended before the Angel spoke again. "I liked that."

"The ballet mouse?" Dean was drifting somewhere on the edge of sleep again, feeling light and distant, only the faintest twinges of pain and misery lingering in the haze of liquor.

"The kiss." His unbandaged hand came up and rested heavy on Dean's chest. "Is it acceptable for humans to kiss each other when feeling timorous?"

Dean opened his eyes slowly. _Timorous_? It was like talking to Sam when only half the words seemed even close to English. "Uh, yeah. It's the thing to do."

The Angel took this on good faith, sitting up enough to press a kiss to Dean's forehead, somewhere over his left eyebrow. Kiss was a generous word for it. It was no more than a press of lips, dry and soft and chaste. And it was just shy of being wonderful. Dean hadn't been kissed like that since him mother still tucked him into bed and he willingly wore footy pajamas. He couldn't stop himself that time, a hand came up and he cupped the Angel's cheek, feeling more lost than he had in years.

"The wishing star wants us to dance again, Dean." He leaned into the hand against his face, a gentle weight, the tv singing quietly in the background.

"He can go fuck himself." Dean advised softly, brushing his lips lightly over Cas's forehead again, getting that little spot between his eyes, right before the slope of his nose.

Cas was frowning, his brow drawn down. "I don't think that is possible. The star in not in fact alive… I believe."

He pressed another kiss, this one landing on the tip of his thin nose. "If an Angel can manage I'm sure a puppet could too."

"You are teasing me, just like you do with Samuel."

Dean smiled, gentle and just as warm as he felt inside, burning out of him like a beacon. His brother was right, he really shouldn't drink so much. He got sloppy. "Bingo." The last kiss almost fell against those confused, down turned lips, but in the face of such acts Dean found he just couldn't. He kissed the cheek opposite where his hand rested. "Just like that."

"Does that make us friends?"

It seemed like the theme of that night. Dean remembered the train show explaining the import of friendship, same as the mouse in the pink tutu. It must have made an impression on the Angel. "Yeah." He said softly and it had been years since he had trusted anyone enough to call 'friend'. But Cas had saved his life twice now and Dean had a man-crush on him in the worst way. Friend was an easy name to put to what they had. It was a safe name for it. Dean could handle being friends.

"Friends." He confirmed and butted their heads together gently, hoping that the jostle would set things in his mind straight again. It didn't. He dragged himself to his feet, swaying slightly and smiling. "I'm dead tired." He fell back on his bed, hand finding the little clicker on the light, and he cast the room into semidarkness. "Night, Cas."

"Goodnight, Dean."

* * *

When Dean came back too he felt like he was dying. His mouth tasted like the final resting place for something small and pitiful. He half crawled into the bathroom and clung to the toilet while he emptied his stomach. Somewhere in the back of his mind he took note of the fact that Cas was awake and watching Sesame Street. It was morning, though it was difficult to tell when in the morning it actually was. Dean had no real recollection of the night before. He just remembered staggering into the room and falling into bed.

After what felt like an eternity Dean stood, rinsing his mouth in the sink. If he had been awake an hour before he would have seen the Angel performing a similar dance, but as it was Dean lowered himself back to his bed and eyed the bottle of Jack, assuming he had drunk that much on his own and not even bothering to wonder at why he felt so awful. He pulled a pillow over his face, blocking out the light and some of the sounds from the tv. He already knew his damn alphabet, he didn't need a reminder.

Something touched his mouth, light but persistent. He blew at it, but it would not leave him be. Poke, poke, poke it went. He felt a growl building in the back of his throat and he tossed aside the pillow. "What?"

Cas looked down at him, holding a little white pill between his fingers and gently poking it alongside Dean's lips again. "For the pain."

There was something nice about that sentiment that came through the hangover and the melancholy feeling. Dean opened his mouth and accepted the pill, only mildly distressed at the feel of fingers sliding past his lips. He waited for the intrusion to end and swallowed, hoping that Cas had fished it out of the duffle and not found it somewhere on the floor or something.

"Thanks." He grumbled, honestly appreciative that he had someone around to take care of his sorry ass.

But then, to his horror, the Angel leaned down and kissed the tip of his nose and Dean sullenly wondered just what the fuck was going on.

Cas said nothing, didn't even smile like there was some secret joke going on or anything. He just went back to his own bed and resumed watching his show like nothing strange was going on.

Dean rolled, putting his back to the strange man and lightly touched his nose. It didn't feel any different, though for some reason he had expected it to.

Ultimately the pill kicked in and they stopped at an IHOP and had pancakes and eggs, because nothing chases off a case of the blues like breakfast. They got back on the road, Dean still suspicious over the nose-kissing thing, and still feeling like he had been punched in the chest by a professional boxer. Everything was tight with a quiet sort of desperation that made outright sobbing seem more like a promise than a possibility. Dean really was looking forward to the alien feelings leaving him, for the time that he would feel whole again and not like a host for a heartbroken teenaged girl's deepest misery.

They made it to Bobby's before nightfall, and for that Dean was thankful. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he had to spend another night in a hotel room with the Angel. He still didn't know what his sorry ass, drunk self did the night before, but Cas seemed honestly content for the majority of the day. Dean was afraid to ask.

Bobby met them at the door with a shotgun in hand and a small smile hidden by his beard. "You're late, boy."

"Am I?" And Dean couldn't help a smile in return, Bobby just had the effect on him.

"Your damned brother keeps calling me, asking if I seen you yet." He lowered his gun, letting it hang down by his side. "Get your sorry ass in here, an go call him so he'll leave me alone."

Dean nodded, still smiling and gestured for Cas to follow him. The Angel did, but was eyeing Bobby with more curiosity than anything else. "Bobby, this is Castiel."

"Not what I imagined an Angel lookin' like." He set the gun down in an umbrella stand beside the door and offered a hand out for shaking. When Cas made no move to do the same, the old hunter lowered his hand, but didn't look too offended. "They drink beer?"

"I don't think so." Dean shrugged. "But I'll grab one for you an me." He went into the kitchen, made a quick call to his brother to assure him that he wasn't dead in a ditch somewhere and came back to Bobby with two beers and a glass of orange juice for the Angel.

They sat in the study, Dean catching up with the old man and Cas watching them while he worked on his juice. They talked about the Impala and what sort of work Dean would have to do on her. They talked about Sam, about some hunts Dean had been on. It was nice to just clear the air. Eventually they did run out of those things and come down to the fact of the matter that Dean's car had been flipped over, and Bobby wanted to know how he had managed that, and the bullet holes and the dried blood in the backseat.

Dean looked over at Cas and was surprised to see him asleep, slumped on the couch, head bowed to his chest. "Give me a sec, Bobby." He got up and gently shook the Angel, rousing him enough to get those eyes he was so fond of gazing up at him. "Come on, you don't wanna sleep out here."

"I did, Dean. I was."

"Good lord, it can talk?" Bobby leaned forward curiously.

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled Cas to his feet. "They're just like real people, Bobby." And he led the half conscious Angel up the stairs and deposited him in one of the spare rooms.

He stayed up another hour or so, trying to explain the whole Fallen Angel things that he had seen twice now. He told Bobby about the banishing sigils and showed him the ones penned on his own chest. The old hunter listened stoically, like he always did, asking a question here and there, nodding occasionally. Dean left out the part about John, just the thought of his dad brought a lump to his throat and there was no way in hell that he was crying in front of Bobby unless there was a body between them. He had some pride. Somewhere.

As it happened, Bobby hadn't heard much about any sort of apocalypse, or whatever war Gabe had mentioned, but he promised to ask around and told Dean to get some sleep.

He managed a few hours, but with the rising of the sun he found himself out in the scrap yard, mulling over the remains of his poor, shattered car. Dean spent the better part of the day banging out dents and making a list of parts he would need to order to get her running again. Castiel found him a little after noon, wearing his yellow windbreaker and blinking into the bright sunlight.

"How long are we going to stay here?" His didn't sound annoyed or anything like other people might have, just curious.

" 'bout a week?" Dean did not bother taking his head out from under the hood.

"Alright," and the Angel wandered off into the scrap yard.

Bobby came by about an hour afterwards. "He's writing on my cars with a marker."

"What?" Dean looked over, wiping his hands on a towel.

"A marker. He's been walking the perimeter, drawing on things. Is he all right in the head?"

Dean shrugged. "He's hiding from those things. He's probably laying wards." Dean really hoped that's what they were.

"Don't look like no damn wards I've ever seen." He started to walk back to the house. "An keep him out of my books."

"Wait, he can read?" Dean honestly felt surprised at that.

"How the hell should I know? He just keeps popping up in the dammedest places, starin' me down like he aint never seen an old man before. An then I catch him in my books, don't know if he's looking at the pictures or what, but he isn't putting them back where he got 'em from."

Dean hid a smile behind a little cough. "I'll talk to him about it."

"I've got a system, you know." The old man grumbled to himself and stomped off, back up to the house, mumbling to himself.

He decided it was time to take a break from his car and he went on a walk out into the salvage yard to find Cas. Indeed, the Angel's handiwork could be seen on a number of car windshields and fence posts, carefully drawn wards in his precise and neat hand writing. The Angel himself was a bit more difficult to find. He had taken up residence in an old Ford Pinto that had been stacked haphazardly on top of the bed of a dinted pickup. The small, once green car didn't exactly fit in the bed, it sort of hung drunkenly up over the cab, the windshield tilted parallel with the sky. Dean would have missed the little Angel nesting up there if he had not poked his head out through the place where the driver side door should have been and called out to him.

"Dean, are you lost too?"

"Nope. What'cha doing up there?" Even as he asked, Dean found himself climbing up into the passenger side to join him.

"Your friend gave me this and told me to get lost for a bit." Cas held out an old Coleman thermos that smelled like it held soup. "I didn't want to get lost for too long, so I found this. I can see fairly far from up here." He offered Dean some of the soup. "So I don't suppose I stayed lost at all."

Dean took the soup and sipped at it. It tasted like it came from a can, and that was alright with him. "Don't worry about it."

"Will he be upset with me?"

"Bobby? Nah, he just wanted you out of the way. He's not used to company." He passed back the thermos and watched the Angel's throat as he took a drink.

"He reminds me a lot of your father." He was watching the sky and its few stray clouds.

"Don't tell him that." Dean felt a pang somewhere between his lungs. Bobby and John had a falling out years ago. Most people had a falling out with his Dad, though after so long, he thought maybe the bad blood had probably faded. All things considered.

"Alright."

They enjoyed the quiet, the distant birds and the sputter of an engine from out in the yard where Bobby was working on something that was fighting him. Dean was tired, not like he wanted to sleep, just like he had spent the brunt of his day half buried in car. It was a good sort of tired, natural and clean and his muscles ached with the familiar burn. If he had not been a hunter, if life had dealt him different cards, he would not have been a cowboy (despite the childhood ambition) he would probably just have been a mechanic. Working with his hands, being useful and content with his job.

The Angel leaned over and kissed him again this time on the edge of his jaw, his stubble brushing against Dean's like sandpaper and sending a shiver on a round trip through his body.

"The fuck, Cas?" He leaned away slightly, fighting the urge to wipe at the little spot of warmth. "You've got to stop doing that."

He was frowning, tilting his head to the side in that way he did so well. "But you said it is what humans do with one another."

"When did I say that?" It seemed like something he would make a point to remember saying.

"Two nights ago."

Not exactly the answer he wanted, but none the less the one he was expecting. Dean stared fixedly at the tree line over the dashboard and his knees. "What else did I tell you that night?" His voice was careful and he did not know if he wanted to hear what came next. Drunken confessions were a Winchester specialty.

"That we are friends."

Oh… friends. That wasn't so bad. He could live with that.

"And not to dance even if the wishing star tells us to."

That didn't even come close to making sense and he doubted that context would help. Dean looked at him sideways, his lip curling up in a strange expression. How much had he had to drink?

"And then you kissed me many times. It was much nicer than I thought it would be." There was no coyness to that statement. It was just simple and shameless and blunt like he was reciting a grocery list or telling Dean that the sky was blue.

His stomach had dropped out, his mouth had gone dry and try as he might he could not look away from the Angel beside him. He had actually kissed him? "Oh… right." He managed to look back out at the trees, a voice in his mind screaming quietly while he fought down a mild panic attack. Why had he kissed Cas? What on earth had possessed him to kiss the man? That was a dumb question, the answer was obviously whisky and that stupid fluttering feeling he got whenever the Angel stood too close. The mighty Dean Winchester had fallen. The king of the ladies men had died. Long live the king.

He took Cas' soup away and finished it off, hoping that it could calm the weirdly upside down feeling inside of him.

He had kissed a man, an Angel to be more exact, but it still qualified. And apparently it had been nice. Nicer than the Angel had thought it would be. Well… that sort of went without saying. Dean didn't half-ass anything. If he had gotten it in his liquored up mind that kissing the Angel was a good idea, or coarse he had done it like he meant it. The stupid part was that he couldn't remember a damned thing from that night. All the sin and none of the fun. And wasn't that just a normal day in the life of Dean?

The empty thermos got wedged between the two seats and Dean rolled his shoulders, working out a kink. He sighed. "How many is _many times_?"

Cas blinked over at him and frowned. "I wasn't counting."

"But it was… nice?" Eww, if felt dirty to even say. 'Nice' kissing was for hand holding children and old people.

"It made me feel happy." He clarified, his gaze softening slightly, the edges of his mouth turning up ever so slightly into the first smile that Dean had seen on him. It was like light breaking through the clouds, or the sun dawning after a night that felt endless.

Two days ago an Angel had died in front of them and Cas had broken down, totally check out… and Dean had somehow made him feel happy in the aftermath. It must have been some kiss.

Drunk Dean would not be permitted to upstage sober Dean.

He reached out, catching Cas' jacket collar and pulled him in. He kissed Castiel in that sort of haphazard and desperate way reserved for last kisses, not first ones. After a painful moment where Dean feared he had just made a colossal mistake, Cas yielded under him, making a soft noise somewhere between surprise and want, a gasp tapering off into a moan, his hands coming up to Dean's face, holing him in place. And they kissed, all hot breaths and teeth scraping in ways that bordered on painful. It was obvious that the Angel had no idea what he was doing, but it was apparent what he wanted. His mouth was begging without words, his hands carding into Dean's hair as he kissed back like he was attempting to take him in as a replacement for oxygen.

Dean pulled back as much as he was allowed, breath shaking and lips slightly bruised. It was not what he had wanted, he had caught the Angel with the intention of a _nice_ kiss, whatever the hell that was. He had failed miserably and he was not sure if that was a bad thing. Cas was watching him, pupils blown wide with lust, all unfocused and beautiful. Dean had done that. It was a matter of great pride.

To his surprise, the Angel was pulling him back in, the hands tangled into his hair much stronger than Dean thought possible. Cas licked into his mouth in a way that the linguistic part of Dean's brain helpfully described as possessive. It might have been what people meant by the phrase 'coming undone'. He couldn't be sure, but as good as it felt, he didn't like it much.

It was too intimate.

Too real.

He had to get out.

He pulled back again, catching hold of the hands that held him and gently detaching them. He needed air. He needed gallons of it, and maybe a blanket and some cocoa… and a good place to hide. Cas was leaning back in, using their hands held between then as leverage, his very white teeth flashing in something akin to a drunken grin.

"Stop." Dean's voice was rough and low in a way that it only tended to be when in a bedroom. "Cas, no." His heart was hammering and he felt like he might drown out here on dry land. Cas had tasted very close to how he smelled, with the simple addition of tomato soup and Dean was fairly certain that he was now an addict to it. It took every ounce of will he had not to crawl out of his seat and into the driver's side.

"Why not?" It came out as a whine, something desperate and needy.

"It's getting late… I've got some more work to do on the Impala before it gets dark." It was one of the worst excuses in the history of excuses. But it seemed acceptable.

Cas nodded slowly. "Then you will go work on your car." He withdrew his hands from Dean's and hugged himself. "I must stay here."

"Why?" The word caught and he hated himself.

"You told me cars are like rooms."

"What?" Dean had no idea what was going on, but he knew that he should have just gotten out of the car while he had the chance.

"Because I am not allowed to touch myself while in the same room as people."

Dean's mind went completely blank. If it had been a woman beside him he would have known precisely what to do. But this was different- worlds different and he was out of his depth.

He found himself a while later, on his back beneath the Impala, installing new fuel neck assembly, and wondering at what point he had started to hate himself so much.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a good dream, maybe even the best sort of dream, the kind where things didn't make much sense, but at the same time they didn't need to.

He was lying on the beach, the sand hot under his bare back, his swim trunks were red with little white sharks- just like he had when he was fourteen and him and dad and Sam spent part of the summer in California. The sky was a brilliant blue green, more like a peacock than any color he had ever seen the sky take on before and it was riddled with stars even though he would have sworn that it was midday. Cas was leaning over him, telling him knock-knock jokes in his weird angelic language and dressed in a vintage James Bond style tux. The Angel was writing over Dean's chest with his too dark blood staining his fingertips.

They were both giggling like little kids even though the punch line went right over Dean's head.

Cas was beautiful while he was laughing, his face shone, his body language open and welcoming. It was a sweet sort of dream and Dean could not help but take him up on such a welcoming offer. He sat up, the blood running down his chest like water and he pulled the Angel against him. They kissed like it was the end of the world- all hungry mouths and sharp teeth cutting off half hearted cries of frustration at the clothes that Cas still wore. Then Cas shoved him back down into the sand and resumed him jokes and careful writings. They repeated this many times, the kisses becoming more and more desperate and the jokes turning more and more obscure, even though Dean never fully understood a single word. He had a feeling that the last one had something to do with a whale and basketball.

That's when he woke up. He woke to the very unusual strains of someone yelling in Spanish. Dean rolled off of the little fold away army cot, pulled on his jeans from the day before and stumbled up the stairs from the basement where he had spent the night. He found Cas and Bobby sitting as far apart as the couch would allow and watching Spanish soap operas. The only thing that could possibly make the whole thing any stranger was the fact that the Angel was rapidly translating the dramatic monologue into English for Bobby's benefit. He did not change the inflection in his voice when the mustached Casanova of a man turned away; shedding a single tear and the buxom woman with the gun took over the yelling.

"I should use this on myself," he said in his soft, husky voice, "after what you've done to me and my mother. My own mother- you son of a bitch."

"What the hell is going on?" Dean made the mistake of coming between the two men and the static lined little television set.

"Boy, get your sorry ass out of the way."

Dean put his hands up in surrender and sidestepped out of the way. "You're watching the telemundo?"

"If you make me miss my stories I will break your knees."

And Cas was still translating. "How could I have known she was your mother? Nora, she meant nothing to me, it's you that I love. It's always been you."

Dean was not sure that he had actually woken up and wasn't in some sort of waking dream… or nightmare. He shook his head and went into the kitchen, making some coffee in the World War two era percolator and some toast in the old gas oven.

He ate his breakfast out in the scrap yard, sitting in the semi wreckage of his Impala and listening to classic rock on a battery powered radio.

His life had gotten weird at some point.

Maybe it had always been this way.

Maybe he had only ever been fooling himself and really the fact that his life was balls to the wall insane on a daily basis had somehow escaped him up until this point.

He called Sam while he finished his toast. He got his brother's voice mail and left a mumbled and obnoxious, crumb filled message to the effect that the car was getting better and he still had no idea what was going on with the Fallen Angel things and that Sam Winchester is a girl. You know, normal brotherly sorts of things.

Something bad had happened to the clutch plate in the Impala and Dean spent the better part of the morning picking bits of it out of the car's engine. Cas joined him at some point, apparently '_Amarte es mi Pecado_' had ended and his mysterious multilingual powers were no longer needed.

Dean had not spoken to the Angel since the little incident in the Ford the evening before and seeing the man rounding the back of the car, wearing a flannel under Dean's canvas jacket, brought the memory of their kissing (both in actuality and in his dream) to the forefront of Dean's thoughts.

He felt his cheeks heat up and he hated himself just a bit. He wasn't a teenager, but his body was rebelling against him just like he was. Heart racing and stomach feeling impossibly light and empty as if his meager breakfast didn't hold a chance of staying down, he gripped his pliers tighter and ducked his head, trying to focus on the task at hand- getting little shards of metal out of the engine block.

Cas didn't say anything, he just quietly slid into the passenger seat and watched Dean through the slanting crack where the raised hood didn't quite meet the body of the car. And he watched him like a dingo watches a human baby, a starved look backed by an insurmountable summit of patience.

Unnerving was one word for it.

So the hunter hunched his shoulders and grappled with the loose radiator hose that kept getting in his way. He strangled that hose, because it was something to do with his hands. The thing ended up in the dirt and Dean with it, deciding it would be best to work under the car where he couldn't see the Angel watching him.

"Arturo is having babies with both Nora and Paulina."

Dean paused a moment and felt a little frown forming before it dawned on him that Castiel didn't actually know anyone named Arturo and was most likely referring to Bobby's soaps. "You don't say."

"Yes… I did. Quite clearly in fact. And Arturo doesn't know about Nora's baby either. I think he plans to stay with Paulina."

"That bastard."

"I did not know that his parents were unmarried."

"It's just a say- never mind." He reached for his wrench and came up empty handed. "Cas, hand me that box-ended wrench."

"I don't know what that is, Dean." The Angel got out of the car, his shoes crunching in the dirt somewhere to the left of Dean's head.

"It's in the toolbox." He explained with a vague wave of his hand and the toolbox clanged down noisily beside the Angel's feet.

Cas started handing him tools. Non specific tools, many of them not wrenches, ok, none of them were wrenches… but Dean took them all, choking on a smile and a mumbled 'thank you' with each new offering. Cas was a horrible helper as he lay on his stomach beside the car, feeing tools to Dean and asking half a million questions about how cars work. It was a nice distraction, talking about something base and perfect like a man made marvel of steel and ingenuity. Cas' fingers brushed his now and then and each jolt of contact shook Dean free of the world of combustion engines, dragging him back to memory of those fingers clutching at his hair.

"Can you fix all the cars here?"

"I could probably figure out how- but it wouldn't be worth my time. No one wants most of these junkers. They're just for parts."

"Or for places to get lost." He offered, passing a hammer to Dean.

He took the hammer and placed it on his other side in the ever growing pile. "Lost?"

"Like in the green one yesterday."

Dean had been very lost- they both had. "Yeah." His mouth had run dry. "Cars are good for that too."

A hand full of sandpaper was next to join the pile. Cas cocked his head just a titch, watching Dean. "Talk dirty to me?"

Dean quickly sat up, or tried to. All he managed to do was to smack his head very soundly against the Impala's underbelly. "Son of a bitch!" He cradled his face in his grease stained hands.

"Are you hurt?" The Angel's normal deadpan voice took on a hint of worry.

"No, Cas. I feel great." He was fairly certain that he had managed to smash the stitches that Sam had given him.

"Are you using sarcasm?"

"No." He wasn't sure he could open his eyes against the throbbing pain, not yet anyways.

"Why did you do that, Dean? You're bleeding."

With more care than probably necessary, Dean wiggled out from under the car and sat upright, leaning against the steel bumper. He pried his eyes open and looked at his hands, there actually was a bit of blood mixed with the black of the engine grease. Wonderful. "You want me to talk dirty? Where the hell did you hear that?" He pressed his slightly clean wrist to his head and the sting of the reopened wound. "Fuck, Cas. You can't just say things like- you just can't."

Cas had scooted round the car to crouch beside Dean, the dark green of the jacket turned a dusty grey from the dirt he had been laying in. "The man said it."

"Man? The fuck he did, Cas. I know it was you." He looked sideways at the Angel.

"No, the man in the song… he keeps saying it."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" And then Dean heard it. The dinky little radio that he had left blasting somewhere on the hood of a nearby vehicle was playing Poison's 'Talk Dirty to Me'. "Damn it, Cas. You've got to learn about context."

"Context?" He was pushing Dean's hands aside and using the sleeve of his flannel to help stop the blood.

"You can't just say 'talk dirty to me' to a dude."

The Angel was frowning, leaning closer and dabbing at Dean's face with his other sleeve. "I didn't say. I asked."

"Well, don't ask like that." He closed his eyes. Cas was far too close and Dean was far too tempted to make it worse.

"But what does it mean?"

"It's-" he really didn't know how to explain something like this to Cas. It was true, he had fumbled his way through the 'erections are a normal part of life' speech, but dirty talk was a little more… in depth than he felt comfortable walking an Angel through. "It's complicated." He settled on.

"More complicated than a car? You explained cars well." He was frowning. Dean didn't need to see it, he could hear the confused pout. "Can you show me?"

Dean made a noise, something low and frustrated and hopeless. It was possible that Castiel was actually trying to break him. It could all be part of some deep plot, possibly orchestrated by Sam. It could just be part of some giant cosmic joke. Everyone, all the higher-ups, standing around laughing at the oldest Winchester left on the plant.

"You can't show someone talking, Cas." He still did not open his eyes.

"I meant _demonstrate_. Did I not use it right? Bobby said that I should attempt to sound more normal when I speak."

"Are you serious?"

"I don't know any other way to be."

Dean was rolling his eyes, even if they were still closed. "It's like… you tuck up close with someone, somewhere dark and private-"

"Like in the 'old man's ford' or in the basement?" Cas had really been listening to the song like it was teaching him all those important human things he needed to know- like his PBS shows.

"Uh, yeah." The soft feel of the flannel against his face was distracting. "And you say things."

"Dirty things? Like mud and wood ash?"

"No, Cas. Other things." He sighed slow and heavy. "Sexy things."

Things got quiet and if it weren't for the firm presence beside him and the touching of the tender skin along his hairline he would have questioned if the Angel was even still with him.

"I don't understand."

He sighed again. This was stupid. It was the best word he could find for it. It was just stupid. He slited his eyes and was surprised to see Cas not looking at all confused, but his eyes bright with that same hungry expression he had when he first came out to the car. It was quite possible that the Angel did understand very well what Dean was talking about, but for that to be true Dean would have to believe that the simple minded, human like creature, that quietly sang the cookie monster song along with the tv, was actually a sly and calculating man.

Yeah right.

He wasn't buying that for a second.

"Things like… uh, well, you know." He found himself clearing his throat. "You've been learnin', I've been yearnin'. All the good times… Way, way down inside, honey, you need it." Dean's voice was almost even as he quietly did _not_ sing the familiar lyrics. He was trying to speak in a language Cas would understand. Cas liked music. "You've been coolin', baby… all the good times I've been misusin'- uh- Way… way down inside, I'm gonna give you every inch of my love." He could feel the heat in his face and was glad that most of it was hidden behind those flannel sleeves. "Way down inside- you need… love." And he suddenly broke out in a grin, realizing the last line of the song and finding it absolutely hilarious that he was about to say it out loud. "Shake for me, girl. I wanna be your… backdoor man." And then he was laughing. He doubted that Led Zeppelin had Cas in mind when they wrote the song.

Backdoor man.

He had just said _backdoor_ _man_ to a dude.

It felt good to laugh.

It felt good when Cas parted that soft flannel curtain and kissed him, too.

Head wound and lack of dignity aside, it felt really, really good.

It still was far from what Dean would consider 'proper kissing, but it was enthusiastic. And something really needed to be said for enthusiasm.

Enthusiasm was awesome.

It was really fucking awesome.

But there was a bad sound, and it was interrupting the awesomeness.

The radio must have been giving up, because the classic rock had vanished in a high electrical scream of feedback. Cas pulled back slightly with a frown, Dean's lower lip still trapped between his teeth. A growl came from somewhere deep in Dean's chest, a sound to rival the radio. He was gripping the collar of his own pilfered jacket, feeling almost desperate to taste the Angel again. He craved it, he needed it. And their lips only just barely met once more when all hell broke loose.

Some sort of misery born storm must have rolled in while Dean had been under his car. It was all sleet and the earth rattling thunder from lightning striking far too close. The crackle of electricity in the air made the hair on Dean's arms stand up and the one filling he had on a back molar buzz with heat. The air around them was alive and the strong alkali stink of it was suffocating.

Cas had sat back on his haunches, face turned up to the sky, his blue eyes wide and almost panicked.

"We need to get inside." Dean was climbing to his feet, the icy rain soaking him all the way to the skin in seconds, and Cas was still- unmoving and unblinking, looking up at the sky while his breath trickled out of him in a fine white mist. "Hey, Cas, come on." He grabbed the Angel by the shoulders in an attempt to haul him to his feet. "You're freaking me out, man."

"He found me." His words were all but lost on the wind. "The wards weren't enough."

Dean bore his teeth, he didn't know any curses good enough to express his feelings. He didn't know who had found Cas now, but things tended to get ugly when the Angel was worried about people finding him. "Come on." He repeated. "We need to get inside, behind the threshold. Guns and salt and exor-" and that's when it hit him from behind.

He fell forward, tripping over Cas' crouched body, sending them both sprawling in a tangle of limbs and fresh blood and something rolling and dark like a boiling shadow, but ten times more corporeal and as cold as death. Dean had no idea what it was, but it lifted him effortlessly and threw him like a stone through the window of the nearest car… which happened to be the Impala's windshield that was already cracked and splintered and gave very little protest to Dean's body passing through it.

The familiar leather of the seat was pressed to his cheek and he just wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep. Distantly he heard a man's voice raised in anger and for some reason that was important to him. He struggled for a moment, fighting to lift his head, but instead his eyes slammed closed with a great sense of finality and he went limp.

"Ya idjit, can you get up?" Bobby's voice was coming down the line sometime later, maybe seconds, maybe years, rough and worried and not at all like Bobby was meant to sound.

"No." Dean's mouth formed clumsily around the word, the single syllable seemingly much harder than it should have been.

"You better, Dean. We've got trouble." He sounded closer, but there was no way to know for sure without opening his eyes, and Dean knew if he managed that that the dull threat of pain that was waiting on the edge of consciousness would rush in and swallow him whole.

"Cas?" Little, single words felt like the best plan right then. Nothing too complicated, nothing to let his body know that he was really awake and that it should act accordingly.

"That's the trouble."

And if that was true it was reason enough for Dean to drag himself back to the land of the living. He felt he owed the Angel something, and not just quick and dirty fumbles in cars, but something far more substantial and meaningful. The man had saved him more than once, and as Cas had said, they were friends and friends get their sorry asses out of broken cars when someone needed them.

Dean didn't know how much of the blood was his, but by the light-headed, woozy feeling building at the base of his skull, it was possible that most of it had come from the bazillion little cuts all over him, complements of the shards of glass that once pretended to be his windshield. It was everywhere, the rain had let up while Dean had been out and there was nothing to wash away the slick red smears that clung to the hood and roof of his car and pooled darkly where it mixed with the pale mud and rainwater all around them. And there were feathers, inky black ones like motes caught tumbling in the curls of wind winding through the rows of junkers, and pale ones, smaller and perfect, pale feathers were laying in the blood and dirt, most as white as snow, some flecked with gold and amber. It looked like someone took a machete to a father bed.

He swayed on his feet, leaning against the car's door for support. God, he didn't feel good.

Bobby was standing beside him, shotgun in hand, but only half heartedly pointing it in the direction of the front of the Impala. Whatever was over there out of Dean's line of sight was apparently not much of a threat.

It was with much trepidation that Dean made his way round the shell of his poor car, not really wanting to see what Bobby had called trouble, but he could hear the strange little noises on the wind and the stupid part of his brain told him that he really wanted to know what was making those moist sounds.

He really should start ignoring that part of his brain, that part of him was not so wise, that part of him didn't mind things like nightmares and thought throwing up out of pure distubia was a good thing.

Cas was laying curled on his side, his blood, a little too dark to be mistaken for Dean's , had soaked through the canvas jacket and was congealing beneath him too thick and in too great in quantity. And Gabriel of all people was crouched at his brother's side, hands pressed to Cas' ribs like he was attempting to hold something in, attempting and loosing the fight. His thin arms shaking with the effort.

But that wasn't the half of it. One of Cas' beautiful black wings was crumpled against his back, blurring and shifting in the light, the other one lay quite solid and real and easy to see a few feet away, feathers stripped away in places and jagged splinters of bone poking out here and there, glaringly bright in the mess of darkness. But the wing was not the only thing lying very wrongly in the mud, there were bits of red, thick meaty bits that must have been meat of some sort, and there were bones there too, just tiny pieces, really no more than scraps. Like a cow had been shoved through a wood chipper. Except cows didn't have fingers, and Dean knew that one of those little chunks was definitely a finger.

Something in his brain shut down. It wasn't helpful at all, but it did keep him from screaming, so maybe it wasn't all bad.

"Little fella says you know him and I shouldn't shoot his face off." Bobby said softly and it almost made Dean jump out of his skin.

He was nodding, then his body got some sort of message that maybe he should be doing more than standing there like an idiot and he stumbled over himself to Cas' side.

That strange moist noise was coming from the broken looking Angel, or more specifically from the hole in his side that Gabriel was trying to keep covered.

"What the fuck happened?" Dean's words were sharp and accusatory, he needed someone to blame as he stripped out of his over shirt, pushed Gabe aside and shoved the bit of cotton into the sucking wound that must have gone all the way down to Cas' lungs. Each breath was attempting to bypass the normal lines and just go straight through the gaping hole in his side. It was a bad kind of injury, the kind that people died from it they didn't get to hospitals.

"I-" the little Angel was still clinging to his brother. "The weather patterns, Sam saw them, knew something bad was coming." He swallowed thickly. "It was Anduriel."

"We need to get him to the doctors- right now." Dean wasn't actually in the mood to hear the story of what happened, because what happened was not as important to him as what would be happening if they didn't do something fast.

"Can't- doctor can't fix this."

"The hell they can."

"Dean, I'm out of juice. I used what I had of my Grace getting here and blowing up that bastard. We won't be able to get him to a hospital in time to do any good."

"I hate you." He said simply, struggling to pull Cas into his arms. If Gabriel wasn't going to help him he could go fuck himself. Dean was not about to just watch Cas die, by suffocation or bleeding out.

"Don't move him, you'll make it worse." He finally let go of his brother, grabbing hold of Dean's arms.

"Help me or don't, but I will kick your sorry little ass if you don't get out of my way."

"He can fix this himself."

Dean paused long enough to see how pale Cas' face was, he had lost too much blood, he looked almost grey, his eyes bruised and his lips blue tinted. Cas wasn't in a state to fix anything. "He needs to get to a hospital."

"He needs his Grace."

"He doesn't have any, you little prick, you know that."

"He can take some of yours."

"I don't have any." Dean felt some sort of bitter emotion building in the back of his throat. He didn't want to sit in the mud arguing, but he also knew that even if they had a teleporter and the words best surgeon waiting for them, it was too late. Cas was trembling, his skin clammy and cold.

Gabe didn't ask permission, didn't explain what he was doing, he just looked at that desperate and broken expression on Dean's face and _DID._ Though what exactly he did was beyond Dean's understanding. The little Angel took his brother's limp hand and forced it up under Dean's shirt, over his heart and it was as cold and clammy as if he was already dead. The blond was talking fast to his brother, the words tangled and lost and Cas stirred slightly, his pale lips moving even if no sound came out. Gabe made a frustrated noise and looked up at Dean, all wide eyed and frantic. "Tell him it's fine," he demanded. "Give him permission."

Dean wanted to ask if it would hurt, it was that simple childlike part of him that would always worry about things like that. But he knew that even guarantied agony would not stop him, and he didn't know when he had gotten to the point with Cas, that he would give him almost anything. It was almost as bad as he was with Sam. He couldn't tell them 'no' if his life depended on it. And even that knowledge wasn't enough to scare him off, though he knew that it should. He was in deep. Way too deep and he didn't know if he would ever see light again. "It's ok, Cas." And it was. Whatever was happening was ok, as long as the Angel didn't leave him like this.

Those cold fingers over his heart flexed slightly, or maybe Dean just imagined it. "Take it, Cas. Whatever you need- take it, just don't die."

And that was permission enough apparently. Something jerked in Dean, something deep down and sturdy, something important. It tore free, he could feel it come loose and it trembled as it spilled out, all white hot like a collapsing star. It was burning up inside of him, glowing so bright that he had to force his eyes closed, though he had no proof that the nova was tangible or anything more than a horrible feeling welling up, climbing and boiling and rushing to the place that Cas' fingers dug into his skin. It felt like dying, like breaking, like being born. It was a wild feeling, raw and breathtaking and horrible and wonderful and Dean did not pass out. His eyes were closed and he fell, that's all. He just fell over and didn't get up again until the sun had pass out of sight behind the tree line and the world had grown dark everywhere else except for that radiance inside of Dean. That took much longer to fade.


	10. Chapter 10

He didn't wake up.

It felt far more like putting together some kind of awareness, the way a stagehand constructs a set, and by the sights that greeted Dean's eyes when he finally pried them open, his life looked to be a fairly low budget production.

Bare concrete floor, walls showing naked beams stained with grey patches of mildew caused by unhindered water damage. Scratchy blanket that smelled questionable... it was less than thrilling to be sure.

But if the stage was anything close to depressing, the overture was enough to entice suicidal thoughts.

"-I ain't no fortunate one. Some folks inherit star spangled eyes, oh they send you down to war-"

"Why do you do this to me?" Dean's voice was like grit and broken glass.

"It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no military son."

"Gabriel, stop."

"Dean's awake, Dean's awake and he's glaring at meee." The little blonde Angel continued in a singsong voice, a wide smile on his face.

"I don't need this." He pressed a hand to his face trying to will himself back to unconsciousness.

"Your brother suggested that I avoid show tunes and stick to the classics when I sing to you."

"Did he also suggest keeping out of strangling distance?"

Gabe sat back in his metal folding chair beside Dean's little military cot down in Bobby's basement, still smiling but there was little enthusiasm behind it. He could put up a good front, singing and grinning and being an annoying pain in the ass, but under all that something was gravely wrong.

A thought passed though Dean's mind, just a flash of memory telling him that Gabe was not supposed to be here in Sioux Falls. The Angel should have been in Main with Sam living the deviously gay lifestyle that they had formed together for some strange reason. So why the hell was the little man hovering beside Dean, butchering a perfectly good song?

Dean bolted upright, blue wool blanket pooling over his legs. "Where's Cas?" Cas was why the other Angel had shown up. Cas had been hurt. Cas could be dead- should have been dead.

"He's watching a Spanish soap opera with your old man friend."

"He's alright?" Dean slumped back down, body feeling light in a swimmingly displaced sort of way, like he had left his head on some distant shore. Vaguely he remembered that he should hurt, he had been thrown through a plate glass windshield, after all. But everything was soft white snow and warm humming in his bones and something like that just didn't feel as important as he knew it should.

The Angel's face fell, his smile trembling away into nothingness.

Dean was sitting up again, tension gripping him through his spine. "What's wrong?"

"Don't get your panties in a twist." A hint of the former smile sparked somewhere on the edges of his thin lips. "He's better than I've seen him in years."

"So, I get whammied, you decide to move in and Cas gets to narrate the tale of Nora's illegitimate baby? We're ok for once. Why are you sitting there, looking like someone kicked your puppy?"

"Whammied?" And the smile was back in full force, this time with a bit of suggestive eyebrow waggling. "I had no idea the two of you had worked all the way up to a full whammy. I thought you were still in the noodling phase."

"I-what? We-" Dean felt his face getting hot. "_No_. I just meant that I can't feel my body and I've been unconscious for hours at least." If the sliver of night sky through the tiny windows mounted high on the walls was anything to go off of. "Whatever he did to me- I feel broken and more ok with it than I should be."

There was something amused and disbelieving on Gabe's face, like perhaps he had only been teasing Dean before, but now was beginning to wonder if there had not been some truth in his own words. "You're fine, you big sissy. And Cassy'll be fine too. He just - well, to put it in a way you might understand, he just needed a jumpstart."

"Jumpstart?"

"Yeah, he sort of… touched your soul. No big deal." His eyes tightened slightly as if that particular lie cost him something vital. "But he's high as a kite and good as new."

"So what's with the bitch face?" Dean still felt like a dingy that had been cut free to drift, but he was upright so he started to assess his injuries. Or he would have, if there had been to find. He didn't have a scratch on him other than the same faded, silvery scars that he had lived with for years. He couldn't even feel any traces of that lingering morose cloud that had been hanging over him since the ginger Angel exploded on the roadside. "Does this mean he's all full of Grace again? Shouldn't you be happy for your brother rejoining the Angel club?"

"Castiel isn't being straight with me."

And that made Dean almost crack a smile, because the dark haired Angel wasn't exactly being straight with him either. But then he remembered how incredibly screwed up that was and he schooled his face into a neutral-ish frown.

"Touching your soul should have put him back in the big leagues, should have been enough to get him home, safe and sound and away from all this," he gestured indistinctly around the room, "but…" He shook his head slightly.

"But what?" Maybe Cas just didn't want to go back up to heaven and whatever war was still raging on beyond mortal eyes. Dean could hope. However, the sheer fact that the hope existed somewhere quiet and very real inside of him was a distressing fact he was not ready to deal with yet.

"He's got a hole or something in him. The Grace is just leaking out- not like puddling on the floor or anything, it's just going away. You should have seen him when he woke up after touching you, like a hundred watt bulb. It was enough Grace to fix himself and your sorry ass, good as new." He inclined his head towards Dean with a tight expression. "But he's fading fast."

"And then what happens?" Dean scrubbed his hands through his hair, the cuts and blood may be gone, but there were still bit of dirt and debris in his hair and under his nails.

"He goes back to how he was this morning, just as weak and as human as you."

"Hey, there's nothin' wrong with being human."

"There is for an Angel." He pushed his hands through his own hair. "He should be back to normal, and he's not and he won't tell me why."

"It's because you're a little bitch." Ok, so maybe that was completely undeserved, but it was too late for Dean to take it back.

Gabe grinned. "Again, panties- all in a twist. Just because your brother is hot for my sweet ass and it obviously freaks you out- doesn't mean you have to be a jackass all the time. We're on the same side here." Apparently Dean's insult didn't mean too much to faze the Angel.

"Don't ever refer to Sam and your ass in the same sentence… ever again." He shuddered slightly.

"Look, I'm not saying that we need to go out and do body shots together or anything. I'm just saying that I need your help with Cassy."

Dean's teeth caught his lip for a moment. "Keep talking, shortstack."

Gabe grinned like he knew he had won. "He's not talking to me again. He asked what happened to Anduriel, I told him- he punched me and clammed up."

"What _did_ happen to Anduur…ur… Andy the fallen angel?" He remembered meaty bits all over the gravel and his stomach churned slightly.

"I… I blew him up." He looked as ill as Dean felt. "Look, I'd rather not talk about it." He squared his shoulders. "Now, Cas likes you, god knows why, but he does. He might talk to you- tell you what's going on."

Dean was frowning again. It sounded an awful lot like he was being asked to do something touchy feely that might end in crying or hugging or something equally unmanly and unwanted. "What exactly am I asking him about?"

"Why the denarius are after him. Now, I can understand one catching his scent and going after him for fun- but two is a gross coincidence, and three is just ridiculous, especially since it was Anduriel."

"And why was that last dude such a big deal?"

Gabe made a face like he had tasted something sour. "Anduriel was Lucifer's right-hand man after the fall, his second in command. There's a war going on and last I heard he was trying to bust his boss out of the pit. And for some reason he was up here instead. A bastard like him should have much more exciting things to be doing with his time than hunting down and killing a little empty Angel shell. Something funny's going on, something rotten in the state of Denmark- and all that."

It didn't sound like a good thing to Dean either. "Wait- you blew up the assistant Satan?"

He sighed, his little body deflating slightly. "I just destroyed his vessel, don't make a big deal of it."

"You're a scary little dude. You know that?"

"You do exorcisms. It's basically the same thing."

"Can I explode fallen Angels too?" Dean honestly felt a twinge of excitement at the idea, even if it was a slightly horrific notion.

"No, but you can banish 'em, it's what Cassy did to the last two that came after him. No skill involved, no mess either." He launched himself from his chair. "Also, while you're fishing for answers, see if you can get him to tell you why they kicked him out of the club… I wasn't there when it happened."

"That sounds a little …personal." Dean was not sure, but asking an Angel why they fell from heaven didn't seem like something that you did casually. He swung his legs off the cot, readying to stand even if he couldn't quite feel the ground under his feet.

"I left because I'm a dick and didn't care if they needed me anymore. Cassy wouldn't do that." He gave a knowing sort of wink. "But I'm betting it has something to do with problem _numero uno_." He started to wander out of the cellar, taking the stairs at a jaunty clip, two at a time. "Use that Winchester charm, it makes us angelic sort all gooey inside."

With any and all residual masculinity he still had intact, Dean hoped to avoid making Castiel gooey.

* * *

They went to a bar because Dean did not trust being alone and close with Cas again, and if he tried to talk to him at Bobby's that is precisely what would happen. He was a strong man, but he had an obvious weakness, one that he didn't trust or know how to deal with.

The two were sitting there at the bar, low light and country-rock playing just loud enough that talking was still barely an option. Dean had a whisky, just one, and he was making an effort not to down it and order another. He was rolling the cold glass between his hands and trying to get his thoughts in line. The goal was to ask Cas what was going on, but all he could think about was the fact that they had had been kissing that afternoon. How messed up was that? Cas had almost died, an ex-Angel had exploded all over them and Dean had had his soul felt up, resulting in roughly six hours of unconsciousness- and all that mattered was that the man sitting beside him had asked Dean to talk dirty to him and then kissed him like he was getting paid to.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

But doubts should have come before he dragged Cas away from Bobby's couch and convinced him that going out to celebrate the fact that they were still alive was a good plan. It was too late now. But it wasn't a date and it was very public. Dean was almost positive that he would be able to behave himself. He was an adult after all, and in full control of his facilities, mentally and physically. Or at least that is what he liked to tell himself.

Cas was talking, not about anything important (which was one reason that Dean was more focused on his own inner storm of heterosexual doubt), just rambling on about the show he had been translating for Bobby. Apparently Nora had left and someone's grandmother was being a total bitch. It was simple and irrelevant and Dean had trouble caring about the subject, but at the same time loved hearing the man making sounds, any sounds, all sound. The Angel had a soda and a red straw and seemingly not a care in the world. Dean found him strangely beautiful, in a purely subjective and non gay way.

Gabe had been right about his little brother, there was something different about Cas. Dean didn't know about a hundred watt bulb, he didn't know what he would call it, but it was there- whatever it was. An energy just below the surface, a kind of power that made Dean nervous and a little excited at the same time to be so close to. Even if every ounce of that quiet power was being wasted on a narration of a sordid love triangle.

"Slow down there." Dean glanced over for the first time since they sat. "Take a breath and a sip of your Pepsi. No one's timing you."

The Angel did as requested, watching Dean with his impossibly blue eyes as he worked on his drink, thin red straw dimpling the edge of his lower lip.

Dean made an effort not to smile. It was more difficult than he would have liked to admit. It was just such a novel thing that the Angel would do whatever he asked. It was very tempting to abuse such power, especially if the power was over someone with such a beautiful mouth. "How you feelin', Cas?"

Those eyes blinked and the straw slipped from his lips. "I am well." He frowned slightly and looked to be thinking fast. "How do _you_ feel, Dean?" It was the correct thing to ask, if it didn't sound so weird coming from the Angel.

He chuckled into his glass, just wetting his lips. "I'm surprisingly alright. All things considered."

Cas nodded, looking sidelong at his drink, tip of his tongue flicking out. "All things considered." He agreed softly.

"So… you headed home after this?" Dean wished Sam was here, Sam was good at this sort of thing.

"Home?" He tilted his head, eyebrows lowering slightly. "Do you mean heaven?" When Dean nodded the Angel let his lip curl softly. "No. They do not want me back. Besides, I am of much more use down here." He shifted and looked up at Dean, a shadow of worry passing over his face. "Were you hoping that I would be leaving?"

"No." He said a little too quickly, but luckily it was lost on the other man.

"I have only put you in danger since I landed on your car. Perhaps you might be safer if I were to leave."

"That's the dumbest thing I've heard in a long time. And I talked to your brother today, so that's saying something." He rolled his glass again, feeling the condensation wetting his palms. "Do you have any idea what my life is like when you're not around?"

"How would I have any idea about something like that?" He honestly sounded confused.

And Dean felt a grin. "Let me tell you something, dude. It's no cake walk."

"I don't understand that reference."

"I'm saying that nothing that's come along since I met you has been any worse than the shit I've been dealing with since I was a kid. The monsters might be different, but the dance is always the same, Cas. I was made for this. Don't go acting like some kind of martyr. This is life as normal, and honestly… I don't mind the company."

"You don't?" There was an eagerness to him now, he was leaning forward on his stool, face alight with hope.

"You know I don't."

"Because we're friends." It was not a question.

"Damn straight we are." And Dean clicked his glass against Cas' and downed the rest of the amber liquid. He would try and focus on the friend angle like the last life raft on the Titanic. But Cas was smiling at him, just the smallest curve of lips, barely a hint, but it was enough and Dean knew that he was going down.

He ordered another drink.

Dean had never been good at just _talking_, he had no idea how one went about slyly getting information out of someone. He could do it just fine if he was undercover, pretending to be a cop, and insurance adjuster, a butcher, a baker, or a candlestick maker- but as just plain old Dean Winchester he wasn't sure where to start. It was so much easier when he was pretending to be someone else. Cas wasn't helping matters. He didn't exactly talk like a normal sort of person one talked to in bars.

Dean ordered another drink, this one for Cas, and this one a double shot.

If the Angel wasn't normal people, maybe Dean didn't need to worry so much about normal problems that would arise from awkward conversations.

"So, are you officially an Angel again? Full of holy powers and all that shit, or whatever comes along with the title?" It would have been painfully abrupt if he was asking anyone other than Cas.

The only sign that his question might have stuck as strange or unwelcome was a momentary flash of teeth. "I never stopped being an Angel of the Lord, Dean. But no, I am not filled with 'holy powers'." He swallowed his drink like a champ and frowned into the empty glass. "What Grace I found through connecting with your soul is leaving me- quickly. It would seem that I am no longer capable of holding onto such things as I once could."

"Any ideas why?" He waved two fingers at the bartender, signing for the man to bring more drinks.

"I-" his shoulders hunched and he lowered his head. "I would rather talk of something else." His voice had grown soft and Dean had difficulty hearing it over the music.

"Sure, Cas. What d'ya wanna' talk about?" He pushed another shot between the Angel's hands.

"You have a beautiful soul-"

Dean choked on his drink.

"-we could talk about that."

"Or we could not." He looked around quickly to make sure that no one was looking at them. No one was. Small miracles.

"It was dangerous, me touching your soul… you could have died if things went badly." He was staring into his drink, eyes narrow. "I was already gone when you came to me. I heard your voice somewhere far away and it brought me back. I could not breathe on my own but you offered me air and I took it without thinking." He looked up, his gaze softening. "You saved me, Dean."

It was like he had stumbled into one of Cas and Bobby's soaps. "I… I was just trying to even the score. You saved my ass twice now. It was the least I could do." Well that was a giant lie, and as per normal, Cas seemed oblivious to the painfully counterfeit nature of it.

"Oh." His frown flashed back into place, only to be hidden behind his glass as he drank another shot. "Well, I am grateful to you, regardless of your motives."

"Hey- it's what friends do… they help each other." It was a clumsy save, but it earned Dean another of those ghost-like smiles.

"I have never had a friend before you."

"Never?" This was not a particularly helpful or surprising bit of information.

"No, but I feel you make a good first friend. I am lucky to have found you."

"My car isn't." He said with his own hint of a smile, but it hurt to say. The Impala had been taking a beating since Cas showed up. It was the only real downside so far, even if it was a big one. He quickly waved off the comment. "Don't worry about it." And Cas visibly relaxed.

They drank in silence, but it was comfortable. That was until suddenly the Angel was leaning in as Dean lowered his glass, his eyes lidded and his lips parted. Dean only had a handful of seconds to recognize the look, slide off his stool and stand up and as far away as possible without garnering too much attention.

"Cas," he hissed. "What the fuck are you doing?" He should have known better than to ask a question he didn't actually want an answer to.

"I was hoping to kiss you. I like kissing you."

People were looking at them and Dean felt his face burning up and was appreciative of the dim lighting. He pulled out his wallet and slapped some cash on the bar. He was tempted to just leave, but he had the feeling that Cas would not follow and so he would end up waiting outside for hours until he got the courage enough to go back in and fetch the Angel. It would be far more awkward if he did it that way.

"Come on." His voice was unfamiliar to him. He waited for Cas to look completely baffled, but to then stand and follow him out into the chill night air.

"You did not finish your drink, Dean." He pointed out while pulling his ugly yellow windbreaker tight around his narrow chest.

"Cas- I don't care! You can't just-" he threw his hands up in the air, circling around to the driver's side of the loaner car Bobby had given him for the night. He made an effort to lower his voice. "You can't just go around trying to kiss me whenever you want to."

"But you said it's what friends do." It was very close to a whine.

"Friends don't-" he wanted to scream in frustration, instead he pressed his hands to his eyes and swore softly. "They don't kiss like you want to kiss."

"Do they… do you mean more like how you kissed me the first time?" He did not stay on his own side of the car. They were still out under the stars and the vehicle was not staying between them, the Angel was circling the car getting closer to Dean than he was comfortable with in that moment.

"The first time?" He had no memory of that first night in the hotel, none at all of those '_nice'_ kisses that had left such an impression on Cas.

"On my head and cheek." He clarified.

Dean was backing up slightly, moving around to the trunk, trying to keep the distance between them. It was purely subconscious, and very ineffective as the Angel seemed to have no intention of letting him get away.

It was a miserable bit of information that Cas had shared- and honestly it came a little too late. Apparently, he had kissed Cas' face. He had been piss drunk in a hotel room and kissed the man on the fucking cheek- that was all. Two days later, not knowing what their initial interaction had been, Dean had gone in full throttle. He had shot himself in the foot metaphorically. He had introduced the gay flavor to their relationship, which wasn't new news, but the timeframe was. He had not been drunk when they kissed the first time, he had been totally sober.

This to Dean meant that he had not been acting out of need to prove anything to his drunk self. It had nothing to do with any kind of machismo or pride, but everything to do with pure desire. Dean had not wanted proof, he had just wanted Cas.

Maybe he was over thinking this.

Maybe it could just be something simpler.

Maybe he was just lonely since so long between ladies. The saying 'any port in a storm' came back to his mind. It really was completely fucked up. There had been a hundred or more dry spells while he had been out on the road with his brother but they had never resulted in any quick and dirty fumblings or make out sessions. And Dean liked to think that the fact that Sam was his brother only marginally factored into that one, the bigger part being that Dean was just not into dudes. Not at all. Not one bit.

"I thought you enjoyed it." Cas was looking confused, and maybe a little angry. "Maybe I am just very poor at reading humans."

"No maybe about it. You are shit at reading people."

Cas stopped encroaching and looked a bit surprised and hurt, as if Dean had just slapped him. "Oh." The one word caught on the night breeze and was lost to Dean, but unlike the Angel, he could read body language. Cas shuffled back to the passenger side of the car, dragging his feet and waiting for Dean to unlock the doors. He stood like a man defeated and it was painful to look at.

Dean rested his hands on the trunk, feeling a lot like Cas looked. He took a second to steady himself before digging his keys from his pocket and rounding back to the driver's side. He didn't bother assessing if he was sober enough to drive. He just got in, popped the lock on Cas' door and started the drive back to Bobby's.

"I am sorry for forcing my feelings onto you." Cas' voice was overly loud in the confines of the car. "It is not something that one friend should do to another."

There was a God, and he was giving Dean an easy out to the panic and fear and stomach butterflies that he felt every time he found himself too close to the Angel. Dean could be straight again. He could blame Cas, which was so much nicer than blaming himself for once. He glanced sideways at the Angel, whose face was mislaid in the shadows of the back roads. No street lights out here in the boonies. No way of seeing what sort of expression accompanied those apologetic words.

"My body confuses me. I have lived for so long without any feelings other than obligation and peace. When I fell to Earth I was caught up in all the sensations that come with this sort of body. It has only been a year here, but I have been introduced to wonderful and terrible things- things like pain, and fear and hunger." He took a slow breath in through his nose, letting it out unevenly. "Wrath, desire… lust… I do not understand what to do with these feelings. They come and go like storms. Suddenly here with me and so strong it's overwhelming. I do not think that I always react as I should."

It wasn't just a way out. It was a full blown pardon. Cas had just taken every bit of blame and Dean was being excused from those strange feelings that he could make no sense of and didn't want to because they scared him.

"Hey." And it was his turn to be too loud. He forced his voice a bit lower. "Don't worry so much. As far as I can tell, you're like a kid suddenly finding yourself in an adult's body."

"I am not a child, Dean."

"When I was little, all I wanted to do was make my dad proud. I followed orders, took care of Sammy and did what I was told." The Angel said nothing to that, so Dean kept going. "When I hit puberty it was all wrath and lust and rebellion that I had never, NEVER felt before. I did a lot of things I wish I hadn't." He risked another glance that gave him nothing. Cas was looking out the window now. "I'm saying don't worry about it. Bodies suck sometimes, never doing what you want- liking people you know you shouldn't. They don't ask permission." His certainly didn't. "Don't be hard on yourself, Cas. It gets easier."

The silence returned and there was nothing but soft breaths and the growl of the engine and the hum of the wheels on the road.

They pulled up to Bobby's and before the car stopped its rumble Cas' hand was on his arm. Dean's heart was in his throat, his eyes fixed on the driveway.

"But we are still friends, right?" He was quiet, hardly more than a whisper, but there was something desperate in those words that was unmistakable.

Dean had a sudden desire to turn and grab the Angel, pulling him in for a kiss that would leave him breathless and erase every ounce of doubt that he had. It was a thought that tightened something low in his gut… maybe even a bit lower than that.

His mouth went dry and all he could hear was his heart hammering in his ears.

Was he really going to do this to himself?

Dean realized that it didn't matter how many monsters he faced in his life, or what sort of horrors were thrown his way. It didn't matter what he lived through or what sort of man other people thought he was. Dean knew the truth.

He was a coward.

And as such, he kept his eyes on the road, his hands on the wheel and the keys.

"Yeah, Cas." And at least it wasn't a lie. That had to count for something, right? Dean needed to believe that it counted for something.

"And you're not mad at me?" That broken quality was still there and it was killing Dean just a bit.

He swallowed thickly and forced himself to pull the keys from the ignition. Somewhere down inside he found a shadow of the man he once was, the man who he had been before John died, before the Devil's Gate, and Angels started falling out of the sky. Dean's insides tightened like a fist and when he turned in his seat to look at the other man it was with a cocky, sure smile.

"Come on, Cas. I told you, we're friends. Don't worry about anything else." He pulled himself from the car, his smile only faltering slightly when he was looking away from the sudden hope on the Angel's face. "I'll make you hot cocoa and we can watch the Great Mouse Detective." He vaguely remembered a worn old VHS stashed somewhere in one of the closets. It had been one of Sam's favorites when John would leave them with Bobby, and seeing as Bobby never threw things out, there was a good chance the video was still hanging around somewhere, waiting for them.

"Mouse detective? Is that like the mouse ballerina?" Cas was out of the car, following Dean to the front door, all that unsure tension gone like a bad dream.

Dean hesitated, looking over his shoulder. _Mouse ballerina?_ "No, Cas. He's a detective and he's fucking manly." He unlocked the door and went inside. "He fights evil rats and saves Mouse-England. Basil isn't anything like a ballerina."

It took some doing, but he found the video in a box that also held some rusty Hot Wheels, a jacked up slinky, a handful of playing cards and lots of unnamable broken bits of childhood that made Dean smile. He made two cups of hot chocolate (on the stove like a real man), tossed a quilt over Cas and put on the movie. He had to keep the volume low because somewhere in the house Bobby and possibly Gabriel were sleeping, but that was just fine.

As far as Dean could tell, Cas enjoyed the movie, though he had harsh things to say about the peg legged bat. Apparently the Angel did not care for shifty eyed henchmen. Dean couldn't blame him. He had liked the movie well enough when he was a child, but honestly, for the hour and change that the film went on, he hardly saw more than three consecutive minutes at any time. He only had eyes for the Angel lying gracefully beside him, legs strewn out over the arm of the couch and his mess of dark hair enticingly close to Dean's leg. All he had to do was let his hand drop form the back of the couch and he could toy with those black locks that he knew for a fact were even softer than they looked.

But he had made up his mind back in the car, and he kept his hands where they should be and tried to keep his thoughts there as well.

It was harder than it should have been.

For a man given a second chance, he certainly was ungrateful.

They fell asleep on the couch. It would have lasted too- if it weren't for the horrific sounds that came from the end of every VHS tape ever created. It was the sort of thing nightmares were made of.

Dean snorted awake, tripping over himself to get to the tv and shut it off before they woke the whole house.

"Are we under attack?" Cas asked blearily, blinking from his cocoon of cloth.

"Nah, they were just reminding us to rewind." He rubbed an eye. "At least I think. I never knew why they made that sound actually."

"Did they save the mouse queen?"

Dean grunted an affirmative and collected their mugs.

"Did the little girl mouse find her daddy?"

"Yep. Nothing but happy endings all around."

Cas smiled sleepily, pulling the blanket up so that he was nothing but piercing blue eyes and soft hair. He sighed out a muffled, "good", letting his eyes drift closed again.

Dean put the mugs in the kitchen sink and came back, looking at the littlest bit of the man that he could see, and it made him smile. Not the happy kind of smile. God, he wished it could be a happy smile. But it wasn't, it was the sort of smile that hurt more than just his face.

They were friends now, _officially_ nothing more than friends. Dean could work with that. He would have to.

He sat back down beside his _friend_ and for the second time in a week wondered why he hated himself so much.

"Hey, you still here, Cas?"

"I have not gone anywhere, Dean." His eyes did not open.

"Cas… why did you fall?" That wasn't right. Honestly, Dean couldn't care less why the Angel was here, all that really mattered was that here he was staying. But what he had really wanted to say to Castiel would have been a lot less productive, and Gabriel was probably expecting some sort of answers come morning.

Those dark brows lowered slightly, little wrinkles forming on his forehead. He peeked one eye open just enough to give the hunter a steady expression. At first Dean assumed that he would be getting no answer, but that one eye closed back up and the Angel let out a slow, suffering sort of sigh. "I… felt doubt." He whispered from his safe place, wrapped in the blanket. "I began to question my superiors, to wonder if this really was the plan that our father had for us." He rolled to his side, facing the back of the couch and all by disappearing. "They did not appreciate my distrust towards them and they offered an ultimatum. I could beg forgiveness or leave."

"And so you left?"

"No. I tried to stay." He sighed again, pushing his face into the cushions. "It did not work out as planned. They tore my Grace from me and threw me to Earth." It was the Readers Digest version of what happened, but from the apparent discomfort it was obvious that any more detailed of a telling would not end well for the man.

"That… sucks. They sound like a huge bag of dicks." And he really did mean that one, he just wished he had a more heartfelt way to put it.

"I would not put it quite that way, but I feel that our sentiment is the same." He tucked his knees up to his chest, becoming something similar in shape to a ball.

"But, hey… you're here now. And you've got me- and your brother, though that seems like a mixed blessing at best." He gently laid a hand on Cas' back and felt the man tense slightly under the pressure. "And you're a tough little son of a bitch, Grace or no. Those jackasses up in heaven don't know what they're missing."

"Dean, when you touch me as you are now, it becomes very difficult to not think lustful thoughts about you." Cas mumbled thickly to the back of the couch.

Just like that, Dean had his hands up in the air in a pantomime of surrender. "I wasn't doing anything."

"My wings and the space near them is very..." He trailed off, lost in thought, or lost for words, it was hard to tell.

"Sensitive?" Dean offered, suddenly realizing what he had been doing to the man off and on since they met. He really did love the soft feathery goodness, and apparently Cas did too. No wonder things escalated so quickly.

"Yes." He confirmed in a husky voice.

Dean's breath caught in his throat. "I will, uh, keep that in mind." He made a soft sound that should have been more manly, but fell dismally short. "Sorry." He spent a few seconds looking out the less than clean windows. The faintest hint of light from the false dawn was tinting the sky and coloring everything in pale wisps of grey fog. Dean hated sunrise.

"Dean?"

All he could manage was a grunt.

"Have you ever been in love?"

That resulted in a startled, breathy laugh. If it had been anyone else asking he would have just walked away. But Cas had opened up, and Dean had felt him up, and he felt like he owed the man something tonight. Answering his simple question was really the least he could do. "Yeah- but just once." He glanced away from the barely visible tree line, but Cas was still hiding, so he looked back out. "Her name was Cassy."

"Cassy?" The Angel shifted slightly. "You loved a woman named Cassy?"

"True facts." He assured.

"It would seem that my father has a strange sense of humor."

Dean frowned and looked back at Castiel then started slightly when he saw that he was being watched. They stared at one another for a painfully long time.

The Angel was the first to blink, looking down slightly and letting out a breath Dean didn't know he had been holding. "It has grown early, Dean. It might be best if you get some sleep before the day begins."

"You get some sleep." He stood, feeling suddenly defensive and not knowing why.

"I will." He nodded slightly, tilting his head and watching Dean from a strange angle.

Dean scratched at his the stubble along his jaw and tried to think of something good to say. "Yeah… good night, Cas." He didn't have anything else.


	11. Chapter 11

AN:

I just really want to start off by sending out a warm and cuddly, internet thank you to all those lovely people who came and volunteered to beta read for me. I did not expect that many people to offer their help and it was a little overwhelming.

In the end I ended up with the lovely and talented **inappropriately-ginger, **and with any hope she will be my navigator for the rest of this journey.

Also, so many lovely reviews came to me from the last chapter and a surprising number of people who professed to have read the whole thing in one sitting, or even multiple times. Ya'll make me blush... you know who you are. One day a curly haired, Welsh girl with too many freckles may find you and hug you in a fierce manner- but don't worry. It's just me.

Thanks again, all you lovely, lovely readers. You're making my hectic mid-term exams feel a lot less painful.

any hoo, I'll stop prattling and give you what you came for. A chapter.

My gift to you.

* * *

Dean had done something bad. This was a very nonspecific sort of happening for him, as most of his life was made of one bad decision, action, idea, or choice endlessly queuing up behind and before him. But this particular life decision looked to be ranking in the top five of Dean's own personal 'bad plan' hall of fame.

The morning after his and Cas' little heart to heart (and not exactly consensual decision to be friends), Dean had realized all too quickly that it was not a choice he was prepared to live with for any length of time.

He did his best after waking to avoid Castiel, because honestly, he wanted to take back everything that he had said the night before-to pull the confusing man close and just burry his face in that petal soft hair, and hold him and touch him and taste him and he wasn't sure if that was a good plan or not. He had only known the Angel for two weeks and despite Dean's regular track record, the intense attraction had not started to wane in the slightest.

Dean was a man with a short attention span when it came to intimacy. He liked his relationships like he liked his convenient stores. He liked to get in, get out and move on with his life. Physical gratification was just a pleasant necessity that didn't require much thought, and actual romance was a waste of time. You didn't need much more than a good pickup line and a bit of a swagger to get the sort of company that would last a few heated hours in the backseat of the Impala or a skuzzy motel room.

And at some point before falling asleep, alone on his cot, he realized that that wasn't the sum and total of things he wanted Cas for.

He wanted the Angel for the sorts of things he used to have his brother for. Someone to ride shotgun beside him, someone watching his back during a bar fight, someone laying next to him watching him work on his car and hanging on his words like he was somehow important. But it was more than that, because aside from all those things, he wanted back that time they were sitting in the Ford. He wanted to share food (actual sharing, not stealing like he did with Sam), and watch the sky, and crack jokes and kiss like it was the end of the world and there would never be anyone else- and that was somehow ok.

Dean had not slept well, because his last thought as he lay his head down, had been that he had it unspeakably bad for the Angel already asleep upstairs. And not just a typical sort of bad that he was accustomed to, which he could just take in stride. No, because that would have been _manageable_ - something he could work with or around. It would have been too easy to just have a normal, little crush on the man.

Instead, he wanted to do something stupid like hold hands, or buy a puppy together. It was a two week old friendship and he was already prepared to pick out curtains. There were not words in any language to describe how much this realization troubled Dean.

Neither of them were mentally in the right sort of place for the type of relationship that he found himself strangely pining for.

The Angel was obviously broken. His bosses had torn out his batteries and thrown him away. Then there was the being held captive by questionable entities for a year and pursued across many state lines with malicious intent. That topped with what could best be described as intense Angel puberty, made for an excitingly unorthodox cocktail of a bad plan.

The man was far from top condition. He wasn't even _close_ to firing on all eight cylinders. If Dean did suddenly scoop him up and demand that they enter into a bro-mance to end all bro-mances, it would be unfair for both of them.

So he did his best to avoid the Angel and any accidently-unwarranted professions of longing, but he didn't have to try that hard. Castiel had not moved from the couch where Dean had left him the night before, still wrapped in his blanket and half snoring away with soft puffs of air on each exhale. Gabe was sitting beside him, eating a bowl of Froot Loops in what looked to be chocolate milk and was watching some sort of courtroom TV show with screaming plaintives and bad dye jobs. He grinned up at Dean; little flecks of brightly colored crunchy cereal bits between his otherwise white teeth.

"Mornin', cowboy." He nodded to the battered old chair on the other side of the room, inclining for Dean to take a seat. "My baby brother smells like cheap bourbon and marshmallows and he slept in his shoes, so I am assuming things went well for you two last night."

Dean frowned, glancing at the prone figure that seemed completely oblivious to them. If he had noticed the Angel still wearing his shoes when he curled up on the couch last night, it was very possible that Dean would have taken them off for him.

Domesticated Dean Winchester.

Now that was a truly frightening thought.

"Well, he was a little drunk and very tired and explained to me that your bosses are all asshats." He sighed as he lowered himself to recliner.

"True." The blonde pointed at Dean with his milky spoon. "But that's not new to me. What else you got?"

"Apparently he _told_ them they were asshats and they kicked him to the curb."

Gabe looked down at his brother with something akin to pride. "Fuck yeah, Cas." He whispered in an awed sort of voice and then grinned at Dean. "My baby brother is all grown up."

"Yeah, sure." Dean was really ready for this conversation to be done. He had told all that he knew and he was worried that; if given the opportunity, he might just say more than he wanted. His thoughts were a churning mess and felt like they would take any chance they were given to spill out of him in a torrent of word vomit. If today was the day that he professed his gay-as-rainbows feelings, he wanted it to be towards a specific Angel, and that was _not_ Gabriel.

"He give you anything else?"

"Nope. I asked about the rest and he basically told me to drop it."

"Ah well. I still think you're the man for the job, Winchester. Just keep plugging away." Gabe smirked at Dean. "I think he might have a bit of a crush on you. He'll cave eventually."

"Excuse me?" Dean didn't actually want any clarification. He was fairly certain of Castiel's feelings towards him, even if they did feel a bit unearned and possibly grossly misplaced. But, damn it, he was Dean Winchester and he had a reputation to live up to. He couldn't just sit there and nod knowingly whilst giving Cas' sleeping body moony-eyes. Even if it was tempting.

"Don't get all… how you boys get." Gabe rolled his golden eyes. "Where we come from we're not used to people being nice to us. Imagine our patch of heaven is like the military, but with wings and no secret gay sex. As such when we come down here it's hard not to get a little flustered by the first person not giving you the cold shoulder."

Dean didn't mean to glare so fiercely, but he did. Not that it made a difference.

"Honestly, I thought you were pretty hot shit when you pulled me out of that basement and patched me up. Like my own personal knight in shining Chevy." He drank the last dregs of milk from his bowl and set it on the floor beside his bare feet. "We just all assume that humans are selfish apes, and there you and your brother are, risking your lives, saving people and never expecting any sort of reciprocity- it's a bit hard for us not to get distracted while all our preconceptions are falling apart due to your boyish charms."

"Are you trying to say that you have a crush on me?" Dean felt his lip curling up as he leaned as far away as his chair would allow.

Gabe laughed - happy, wild, and none too quiet. Cas grunted, but didn't seem ready to wake, and his older brother bit his lip to stifle his sounds of amusement. "Oh, God no. I _had_ a bit of a crush on you. HAD. I got over it real fast. You were small potatoes once I met your brother. He's one of those intellectuals. You know- a lover, not a fighter. Also, he's a demon in the sack."

"First off: eww." Dean scowled. "Are you even allowed to talk like that?"

"Technically? No. But as long as the Angel Police don't catch me, I'll be all right." He was still grinning, possibly at himself, but most likely at the look Dean was giving him. "What I'm trying to say, is that Cassy will get over his little crush too, so don't stress about it too much if you notice him giving you pretty eyes- but use it to your advantage. He's a lot more likely to give you answers before he realizes how much of an ass you are."

Dean was rhythmically rapping his thumb nail against his ring, making soft pinging sounds and trying with all his might to set the little Angel on fire with his mind. It didn't work, which was good, because Dean wouldn't have known what to do if it did. Maybe check the kitchen to see if there were any marshmallows left. "You're going home to Sam soon." It wasn't a question.

The Angel rolled his bright eyes, obviously amused by Dean's veiled threats. "Yeah, yeah. I miss my sasquatch." He stood and it didn't honestly make him that much taller. "I just need to make sure that my brother's all right; lay some proper wards around this place, yadda, yadda, yadda." He rolled his long fingered hand through the air, tilting his head. "I can't just leave him like this, not when I don't know what sort of trouble he's in. He deserves somewhere safe. I owe him that much."

Gabe picked up his bowl and for a fragile span of seconds Dean understood the blonde Angel perfectly. He was a bit of a prick, but he worried about his kid brother. The two of them had that much in common and Dean found he could feel a fragment of respect for it.

"I'll see what I can get out of him." Dean grumbled. It was an olive branch. He didn't have to like the man, but they did have the same end goal in mind. They could work together to help Cas.

"I know you will, tiger." The little Angel winked at him and sauntered to the kitchen. "Oh, and be a dear and go grocery shopping this morning? I don't think Cassy's eaten in a few days- it might be why he isn't waking up."

"What?" Dean stood, looking between the two angelic creatures in confusion and concern.

"You heard me," Gabe called over his shoulder, getting himself out a beer from the fridge and popping the cap off with his thumb. "I've been trying for a few hours to get him up. And I got nothing."

"You don't sound all that worried." Dean's feet had carried him closer to Cas' sleeping body. He looked fine, at least he was breathing if that was any indication.

"He could just be really tired. These are vessels, not proper human bodies- they don't exactly run on normal clocks. But your old man friend said he hasn't given Cas anything other than soup two days ago." He licked the lip of the brown beer bottle. "Unless you've been feeding him?"

Dean felt guilty. So very guilty. He hadn't even _thought_ about feeding Cas. He was so used to just taking care of himself, and if there ever was another person with him they typically did the same. Sam had never been shy about making his hunger known. But maybe Cas didn't understand hungry. Maybe the Angel didn't know how to recognize an empty stomach and simply would ignore the pain until he passed out.

"Get a mix of things. I don't know what he likes, but if we can put the right sorts of foods in his face, he might get up. It's hope."

"Hope?" Dean found his boots where he had kicked them off beside the couch and pulled them back on. "Again, for someone who is supposedly worried about his brother you don't sound all that upset."

Gabe grinned. "Hey! He's sleepy, not bleeding. It could just be the drain from losing his Grace again. How should I know? I'll start to really worry if he's still not up by tomorrow." He leaned against the kitchen table, watching Dean as he struggled with his laces. "While you're at the store, get some soda or brownies or something. All this house has is old man food... also known as cheap beer. It's depressing."

The guilt got him to the local grocery store, but it was the niggling man-crush that made him stop at a diner before returning to Bobby's. He stomped back up the porch, the afternoon sun bright, but not offering the slightest bit of warmth. He had forgotten his jacket and was glad to bridge the distance between the car and the house.

He made a b-line to the kitchen and shoved a paper bag of cavity inducing confections into Gabe's waiting arms.

"Oh! Happy Birthday to me." The Angel murmured to his bag of goodies, giving Dean absolutely no attention whatsoever, and that suited the hunter just fine.

He took the second and much smaller bag to the living room and set down on the floor beside the couch where Cas was still unconscious. Dean pulled out a burger, wrapped in grease stained white paper, and had to resist taking the first bite. He still had not had any breakfast, and according to the clock on the wall it was past two, and his stomach was making itself known through low, rolling rumbles.

The Main Street Diner was a place special to Dean's heart. Bobby had never been much of a cook and when the young brothers were left in his care, more often than not they went out to eat. When they were particularly well behaved, they would go to Main Street. Best God damned burgers outside of Texas.

"Hey, Cas." Dean nudged the sleeping man with a shoulder. "Present for you." He held the half unwrapped burger before the lax face and was delighted to watch the Angel stir. It started with his nose, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. Then it was his lips, parting just enough to let his tongue dart out, leaving a thin sheen of moisture. It was beautifully hypnotic and inviting. Dean almost dropped the burger, and what a waste that would have been.

The Angel was making soft noises somewhere in the back of his throat - little broken sounds like he was trying to speak, but was too tired to form any actual words. His sterling blue eyes opened just enough to focus in on the burger inches from his face, and he smiled at it like an old friend; pale hands emerging from the blanket to wrap around the offering of sesame bun and charbroiled beef. Dean helped him to sit up and guide the food to his waiting mouth.

He aided the eating process for no good reason other than he was really enjoying being that close to the other man's face, sharing air; their hands touching warm and solid. And, seeing as Cas' eyes had drifted back closed while he slowly chewed, Dean assumed that no one would begrudge him stealing a bite or two. He bought the burger after all and damn it, he was hungry.

But those eyes opened again and they shone dangerously, but Dean already had his teeth around the food and he wasn't going to let go even if he was being growled at. He took his bite and grinned, without offering a single apology.

Cas pulled away, taking the food with him and tucking his knees up to form a sort of protective barrier between himself and the thief. He eyed Dean warily and slowly chewed, never blinking.

"It lives." Gabe announced cheerily from the doorway, grinning at his brother, holding a bag of frosting covered animal crackers. "And it eats burgers?"

"Everyone eats burgers… you ass." Cas whispered around his last mouthful.

The stunned silence was broken when Dean laughed.

"I used it right, didn't I?" Cas finally blinked, seeking assurance from the mirthful man beside him. "_You_ _ass_ … it's correct."

A thumbs up was all Dean could manage through the tears of laughter.

"Typically you would spice it up by making it into a 'dumbass', 'smartass', 'jackass'- something a bit more insulting and specific to the person." Gabe instructed with a surprisingly straight face.

"I apologize, I am still new to this." Cas narrowed his eyes slightly. "Everyone eats burgers, you short ass."

Despite the fact that Dean had been on the verge of recovery, he promptly broke back down in a renewed bought of laughter. Gabe simply grew a strange expression and remained silent as he stepped back into the kitchen and out of view.

"Are there French fries too?" Cas had lowered his knees enough to lean towards Dean and the greasy bag at his side.

"Onion rings." Dean said with a smile, fishing in the bag and holding out a golden, crispy ring.

"Do I like these?" But even as he asked, he took it from Dean's hand, turning it between his fingers speculatively before shoving it in his mouth. His eyes lit up in answer to his own question and he grunted his approval.

"You feeling ok?" He gave Cas the bag containing the rest of the order of rings.

The Angel regarded him quizzically then seized the bag, fishing out the remainder of his meal. "Yes, Dean."

Well, that was a bit of a relief. Dean hadn't been sure what to think with all the things Gabe had been telling him. Ideas of long lasting angelic comas were something he had never worried about before today. It was good to know it was a grossly misplaced concern.

He smiled at Cas, and without warning, felt his stomach drop out. All his anxiety from that morning came rushing back like it had never left.

This man was a relative stranger. All Dean really knew about him was that he was a former Angel, kicked out of heaven- and not because of sin (or whatever reasons were typical for regular Angels who got the boot), but because he had doubted commanders, who apparently did not approve of dissention in the ranks. He liked burgers in a way that was almost indecent, and he had no shame where it came to his body. The guy had no understanding of personal space. He also seemed to have a budding fondness for classic rock. In many ways, Cas was a lot like Dean.

Perhaps that explained the connection he felt when he looked up into those depthless blue eyes. It didn't feel like looking at a stranger, it felt like looking at a better version of himself. Cas was a bit more detached, to be sure, but still cleaner and with far more hope. Dean had once been like that too. Back when he was young; before things had started to go down the dark road he often found himself on. There was strength under that delicate, angelic surface. It was in the lack of hesitation he showed when handled a weapon, the way simply took the things Dean told him on faith, as if he really believed that the world could possibly be so plainly black and white. But there was gentleness too. Something that Dean had lost in a house fire long before his formative years. It was an innocence that he did not necessarily want back, but he missed all the same.

He licked his lips and examined his hands. There was a drop of burger juice on the curve of his thumb that he idly wiped on his jeans. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth before he even thought of what he planned to say. "Hey, Cas-"

The cushions on the couch dipped and the Angel was leaning close, meticulously chewing his bit of fried onion. Dean didn't have to look up from his hands to know that he was being watched with that million pound weight of a gaze; it hit him at about an inch below his temple and was so pervasive it felt omniscient. "Yes?"

And that voice did not always do funny things to Dean's insides. It wasn't some kind of inescapable trigger that ran straight to his libido. But from that close of a range, it may as well have been. A voice like that, by law, should have to be registered as a lethal weapon.

Sometimes during tests back when he was in school, Dean's thoughts would run dry. When he used to stay out drinking with Sam, and his wizkid of a little brother would start in with the word games, he would sometimes lose all inherent access to human speech. And every once in a blue moon, during particularly amazing sex, he would reach a white out point where there was naught a single rational thought, much less words left to him… this time was much closer to that last one than the others.

"You do smell like bourbon and marshmallows." The words rasped out of him, torn from a throat that was suddenly dry. Cas was bourbon, marshmallows, bacon cheese burgers, and that underlying musk that was purely his own. It was a scent Dean wished he could bottle. He would keep it on a shelf and take out on special occasions and just roll around in it.

"Is that a bad thing?" He cocked his head, blinking his confusion as an unspeakable level of unassuming innocence played over his face.

_God no,_ Dean wanted to growl, but he managed to wipe the back of his hand over his mouth and grunt incoherently instead.

Cas did not budge, possibly didn't even breathe, he just sat, leaning down to eye level to where Dean was sitting on the floor beside him. He waited for an answer. He might have been able to wait for forever.

Dean did not have forever to sit on Bobby's hardwood floor.

"It's… you should go get a shower, Cas. It'll help you wake up, make you feel better."

"I appreciate your concern for my well being, but I feel fine, Dean."

From where he was sitting and pointedly not looking at Cas, he could see the older of the two Angels sitting at the kitchen table, idly kicking his feet and grinning wildly, chomping away on pink and white cookies. Dean closed his eyes and tried not to breathe through his nose.

"Go get a shower then you can come out and help me work on the car some more." He reached out to pat the couch and stand- but his fingers came down on denim and warm flesh and his legs refused to move underneath him. He looked at his hand where it was resting firmly on Cas' knee and fought down the urge to laugh. It would have come out a bit unhinged anyways, and he didn't need that particular blow to his masculinity on top of everything else.

"According to the television shows that I have been watching with Bobby, it seems that dishonesty in a friendship can cause strife." Cas had finally stopped burring holes in the side of Dean's head and was now looking at the junction where their bodies met. "I know that it is against the rules previously put forth, but I have not been able to keep myself from thinking about you when I am in the shower. I do not do it intentionally, and I hope that you will not hold it against me."

That blinding and beautiful blankness had thundered back into existence. Distantly he was aware that his mouth was forming words without his permission. "If you'll let me think about you when I'm in the shower- we can just go ahead and call it even." His whole body was acting on its own accord, like a blissfully drugged sort of autopilot, his thumbnail idly working over the inseam that ran along the inner edge of the Angel's knee.

There was a strange noise that came from the man beneath his hand. Dean risked a look at the sound's source and was ushered into the world of uncomfortable eye contact- and uncomfortable only because Dean knew that Gabe was just one room over and very capable of watching their actions. It was not a good time to confess romantic intent or instigate some tongue wrestling; though both were tempting, and one slightly more than the other.

"I will accept that as a fair exchange." Cas said in his low, rough way. Then, as if to prove the existence of a spiteful god, he got up, sliding away from Dean's hand and left the room.

Two seconds after the sound of his footsteps faded down the hall, Dean let his head fall onto the still warm couch cushion.

"Well played, Winchester." Gabe lightly applauded from his vantage point. "I told you to use that charm of yours, but I didn't know you would be laying it on so thick. Damn good show."

Just like that, Dean's body started to listen to him again. It felt like going from pause to fast-forward, all rushed motions and the little frames in between missing. He found himself in the kitchen, swiping away the bag of animal cookies from the table. Then the doors were closing behind him as he stormed out to the salvage yard, muttering to himself about the walls closing in on him and his easy access to arms and ammunition.

The cookies made a poor sort of meal, but it was better than nothing. The sugar helped to calm his nerves and gave his mouth something to do, though animal cookies were a poor substitute for what he really wanted as not a single one of them could bite him back. In the end his mouth was coated in sticky sweetness and more than anything it tasted very little like childhood and a whole lot more like repression.

The Impala was sleeping where he had left her, sitting beside the shop, surrounded in a halo of dried, browned blood and sparkling shards of glass like diamonds in the gravel. It took a bit of searching, but he found a rake tucked away in a corner of the workshop and did his best to remove the carnage from around his baby. The work was boring, but he paused in his methodical scraping long enough to turn on the little am/fm stereo that was left out from his last attempt of car repair.

As he rounded the Impala to get back to where he had left his rake, he saw a twinkling beside the left front tire, something the wrong sort of color and sheen to be glass. Dean stooped down, picking up the little trinket and frowned. It wasn't much more than a busted up silver disk the size of his thumbnail, marred and scratched up beyond reason on one side, the other worn smooth until it shone in the piercing sunlight. He flicked it high in the air, catching it and letting it drop into his pocket. He didn't really know why he put it there, but he didn't really think about it either. It just sort of happened and then he was back to his raking.

There were no clouds in the sky. It was a clear, pallid blue that went on for an eternity. Dean hated when the sky was this clear - it always made him feel small. So he kept his head down and stayed focus on the task at hand, doing his best to not think about the fact that Cas was in the shower, most likely indulging in a little self indulgence and letting his thoughts amble over Dean. It was, frankly, not information that he knew what to do with, so he pushed it aside. It was one more problem to face when it came time.

"_I crash landed in a Louisiana swamp_-" he sang under his breath with the familiar song blaring on the little static strewn radio. "_Shot up a horde of zombies, but I come out on top_." He wished Sam was there with him. Sam might join in the singing. 'Doom and Gloom' used to be a theme song of his when they were kids and still wanted things like theme songs to maybe make their screwed up lives seem less horrific. "_Guess it just reflects my mood_." He roughly hummed out the chorus, not really putting up much resistance at the urge to play air guitar with his rake.

"You do enjoy your music, don't you?" Castiel's voice cut through the tunes in an utterly disruptive fashion.

Dean hastily planted his rake on the ground in the proper orientation, fighting back a smile, his free hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "Yeah." He was not about to make excuses. He tried a grin and it didn't feel as awful as he thought it might. "You feelin' better?"

His hair was still wet, plastered to his head; though bits had already started to dry in little sections that looked very close to ruffled feathers. The Angel had dressed himself in standard blue jeans and a t-shirt that Dean did not recognize (and by how it hung off of his narrow shoulders it had most likely been left behind at Bobby's by Sam or some other giant) and sported a picture of a purple greyhound. Sure, the shirt was strange, but it was his smile that did funny things to Dean's insides, even if the 'smile' was no more than the slightest bowing of his lips that would have been otherwise overlooked if the lighting had been any different.

"I feel… better." Cas decided slowly, crunching through the gravel to examine the pile of glass that Dean had managed to collect.

"Bit of a mess. I didn't feel like laying in glass while I worked." He said softly, not mentioning the semi dry bits of flesh and bone that had made their way into his pile instead of being stolen away in the night by stray cats or raccoons or whatever fate had befallen many of the larger chunks of fallen Angel that Dean could not seem to find.

Cas shifted slightly, leaning back against the hood of the Impala. "It was unnecessary for Gabriel to deal with Anduriel so… harshly."

Dean licked his lips and frowned. "Dude, I'm pretty sure that the bastard was trying to kill you. If your brother didn't magic himself up in the middle of it you and I would be history."

The Angel cocked his head, watching Dean like he was unsure what the words being said to him meant, but it was not clarification that he asked for when he finally spoke again. "An Angel's vessel is something very sacred, Dean. There are few humans capable of withstanding the pressure of our Grace pounding within them. It was a great loss when Gabriel destroyed Anduriel's vessel. Even if he had become something corrupt, he had once been a righteous man. There is a shortage of those in the world, and it is not wise to go around destroying them before they are given a chance to reform."

"Hey, I'm probably the last person that would come to your brother's, but you can't just shrug off the fact that he saved us Cas. Besides, didn't you blast two of those guys already now?"

"It's different. I banished them." He growled, suddenly bristling and defensive. "I make a point to avoid killing other Angels if at all possible, fallen or otherwise. Like I said, a vessel is something special and unique." He was staring Dean down now, trying to say something else with those damned eyes of his, something complicated and very hard to read in the moment. "They should not be expended so carelessly."

"Hey, sometimes you have to gank a son of a bitch, there aren't always ways around it." He ran a hand through his hair.

"No one is beyond redemption, Dean."

"You really believe that, don't you?" And the answer was yes, and it was due to all that unflappable conviction that Dean knew was below the man's surface.

"Even if in some cases, like with Samuel and Gabriel, they seem to be a lost cause- one must always have faith."

"Come on, man, don't go dragging my brother into this." But even as he spoke, he knew what Cas said was the truth. John had made Dean promise, many years ago, that if Sammy decided to go darkside he would act accordingly. And at the end of it all, Dean hadn't been able to keep that promise, because he knew that his brother could come back. No matter how bad things got, he knew his brother was a good man underneath all the demon's blood and chaos.

He took a sharp, aborted breath, a dense weight like he'd been kicked in the ribs. "Gabe saved your life, and he might be something of a pintsized jerk... but he can't be all that bad. What did he do to get on your shit list?"

"Gabriel is a traitor. He abandoned me when I needed him most. He is selfish and petty and... underneath it all he is still my brother. I have known him my whole life and I believe that one day he will overcome his pride and abandon this… _game_ of his and return to those who need him most."

"Game?" Dean shook his head. "I don't think he looks at it that way." He remembered the look on the little Angel's face when he knelt over his brother's cold body. "I don't know if he's keeping it together any better than the rest of us. It's not something you can hold against him."

And it was one more way he knew that him and Cas had the same milk running through their veins. They both believed that their brother could come back. Not because they had been given any divine sign, but because they needed to believe it. Cas seemed to recognize the protocol set forth, even if he wasn't quite ready to absolve his brother. "People make mistakes and I'll be the first one to admit that none of us are perfect. But you can't always be so hard on him, Cas. The little jerk did save your life."

The Angel had grown still while he listened to Dean speak, all the warmth draining out of him as the words failed to reach home. "You call this a life?"

And that was the sort of a response that would always stop Dean in his tracks.

"This is not a life, Dean. This is a poor excuse for existence. All my brother did was to ensure that this punishment will drag on indefinitely. Don't treat his actions like a favor to me."

"Is it really that bad being down here instead of prancing around up in heaving with your stupid war?"

"I don't know, Dean." And for the first time ever, Dean heard sarcasm in the Angel's voice. "Is it really that bad being here? Are you happy? Do you wake in the mornings feeling like this is the life you always wanted for yourself? You tell me, is this a life worth living?"

"Damn it, Cas." He tossed aside his rake and covered the three steps it took to put him face to face with the Angel. "Yes, it's _always_ worth it." He lowered his head just enough that their half inch difference in height became negligible. "Hell, maybe when I was a kid I would have traded almost anything to get away from this shit, but now? No. I spend my life stopping the monsters that should never exist outside of nightmares, but by some horrible coincidence they're very fucking real. I get to save people. It's called job fucking-satisfaction."

"But are you happy?" Cas was searching his face with something that could be described as desperation.

And Dean didn't know how they got here. The morning had started off almost lewd, Dean was fairly sure his hands still smelled like the burger they had shared, and he knew his thoughts were still plagued by the very possible fact that Cas had been jacking off only a short while before. And here they were, arguing about whether or not life was _worth_ it. Things had gone downhill and existential way too quickly.

"Were you happy in heaven?" Dean demanded, edging close enough that their shoes touched. Just like that, the Angel looked away and the loss of his gaze was a physical feeling for the hunter, like a pressure taken off his chest, the release of a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"No." Cas whispered, hardly more than a sigh.

"Were there burgers and fries in heaven?"

Cas shifted his weight, their knees knocking gently. "There was no need for food in heaven."

"How about hot cocoa?"

"Beverages would be just as superfluous, Dean."

"What about cartoon mice or Cookie Monsters?" He pressed on, knowing the answer before it was given with a shallow shake of the head. "Were there hot showers in heaven?"

He groaned with a plaintive tone. "Dean, we have no physical bodies that would need to be washed."

"Or touched?"

The Angel actually blushed, his pale cheeks turning a painful red.

"Or kissed?"

"No." He whispered. "All of those things are mortal inventions, just carnal desires of this temporal state."

"But are they good?"

"It is not for me to decide if they are good or bad."

"But do you like them?" His hands flitted restlessly at his sides and slowly Dean lifted one to rest on Cas' shoulder, holding him there, hoping to ground him and force an honest answer.

"Very much." He was very still under the power of Dean's touch, neither leaning into or away from him.

"Then what are you missing since you fell? What's so bad about being here?"

Those blue eyes fell on him again and Dean had never seen someone look so utterly beyond lost. The little memory of his earlier smile had been washed away with uncertainty and doubt and something unnamable and broken.

Somewhere in the world there were the right words, but they weren't here, so Dean took hold of the back of Cas' neck and pulled him into a fierce kiss. It took only a heartbeat for the Angel to melt against him, his hesitant hands coming up to rest on Dean's chest, grasping at his shirt and feeling too hot through the thin material. Their legs pressed together and their hips notched just right. It was the first time Dean had kissed Cas like this, standing and touching beyond just their mouths and hands.

It was warm, and that word was hardly adequate to sum up the beautiful feeling that came through the press of flesh and the physical weight of the other man leaning against him. There was no grinding, no frantic caresses. Cas' hands kept up their death grip like the anchor of his place in the universe, the only thing keeping him safe from black holes. And Dean clutched at the back of the man's head, fingers carded in the short hair, his other arm holding firm around narrow back. They simply clung to one another, their mouths the only part of the equation that had moved beyond a PG rating.

There was no way to know how much time had passed- _was_ passing; time had ceased to move regularly for Dean. He was lost for long minutes, licking the insides of Cas' mouth and swallowing down each moan and gasp born into the air that they shared.

Cas broke first, which was unfortunate, because otherwise it could have gone on indefinitely. And would that really have been so bad?

"Dean," he breathed, pressing their foreheads together, his eyes closed tight as if seeing what came next could somehow destroy him. "We can't."

"Why the hell not?" He took the opportunity to stroke that soft hair, his fingertips shaking and no matter how hard he tried he could not seem to catch his breath. The gentle movement betrayed all that dread that had been building since he met Cas, and it wasn't homophobia or anything quite as trite that had made him want the distance that he now lacked.

There was no permanence in his life. Everything he had ever wanted was stripped away from him before he got the chance to really enjoy it. He had no real home, no family other than Sam, and no job security other than rumors of an apocalypse.

His life was cursed and nomadic at best. It had always been too dangerous. There was always something out there, lurking in the shadows, gunning for him. Some days even going to a bar was risky, never mind going out for a one night stand… and anyway, with someone else, anyone else… well, it just wasn't worth it. He didn't want to get involved with anyone and have to watch as the world tore them apart. And despite his full knowledge of that, he wanted Cas, and that want was something very real and solid.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that he was an Angel. Or maybe it was that despite his unassuming packaging, he was a brawler without fear or inhibitions. He was beautiful and terrible and strange- and he was one of the first people Dean had found that could actually stand up against all the weird shit that was constantly falling in his lap.

The Angel had not answered the question, his breaths ghosting like pale clouds in the cold air.

"Why, Cas?" As he spoke their lips brushed slightly and it only helped to stoke the fire curling inside of him.

"Friends aren't supposed to kiss like this."

"Damn it." He tightened his arm around the other man. "I don't want to be friends."

"You…" The Angel went almost slack in his grip, his face turning towards the sky, a decimated expression spilling over his whole countenance. "Oh." He forced out in a small voice.

"Fuck! Cas, no." He used his hand in the other man's hair to turn his face back. "That is not what I meant. We can do this and still be friends."

"But you said-"

"Never mind what I said." And if their positions had allowed for it, he would have stomped his foot. "It's not like there are actual rules to this. We can wing it."

"So you don't mind if I kiss you?"

"Mind? Oh, hell no… Just- just don't do it in public." He added almost sheepishly. "Some people get weird about stuff like this."

And for whatever reason, that earned Dean a smile. Not just his normal hint of a smile, but something that lit up his whole face, bright and open and trusting. "Alright, Dean."

"Boy!" Bobby's gruff voice cut through the salvage yard. "Your brother's on the phone - says it's important."

Dean growled, but it was behind a smile of his own. He leaned back, his arms still around the Angel. "Comin'!" He grinned at Cas, letting his voice drop down to a whisper, "I'm glad that's settled." He stole one last kiss, his teeth grazing the other man's lower lip and drawing an interesting noise. "Now you be good until I get back."

Cas was watching him with a hazy expression, eyes lidded and his mouth red and abused. "Of course." He said solemnly, as if any other behavior from him would have been out of the question.

The walk back to the house was devoid of that heavy feeling that Dean had been carrying since the night before. He was walking on fucking sunshine. Maybe Gabe had been right, and the little crush that Cas had on him was nothing special and would fade in time- maybe Dean's own attachment would taper off eventually as well. But that time was in a nonspecific future and for right now it seemed that their mutual feelings were… well, mutual.

The sun was far away and not all that bright, but somehow Dean's shadow fell dark and heavy, laid out before him with the waning light of late afternoon at his back. He paid it no attention. Why would he? There were more important things clouding his mind. He had a boyfriend, and for Dean Winchester, this was not something to ignore in place of peculiar lighting.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean found it difficult to talk to his brother. Before he could even reach for the phone it had been snatched up by Gabriel and his smug expression. The blonde Angel was leaning a hip against the counter, twirling the cord of the landline phone around his fingers and biting his lower lip as he spoke huskily into the receiver. "And then what would you do?"

There came a distant but exasperated chuckle down the line, and Sam was saying something that made the Angel break out in a grin. "_Naughty_ boy. When I get home you're gunna' pay for that." He took notice of Dean making faces in the doorway and the shorter man winked in what could best be described as a saucy manner. "Did you wanna talk to your better half? He's shootin' me one of those looks that screams of murder, dark piers and five bags of cement." He paused to smile affectionately at the phone, as Sam said something a few hundred miles away. "Yeah, I'll be home soon… Love you too." He finally held the phone out to Dean, shaking it tantalizingly.

The hunter snatched the phone from the offering hands, and was bothered by how warm it was. Dean held it loosely to the side of his head, waiting for Gabriel to snatch up a bag of gummy bears and mosey out of the room.

"_Love you too_?" He stifled a laugh. "Are you two getting serious, Sammy?"

"Hey, Dean." His brother volunteered as to evade to the question.

"So will it be a summer wedding?"

"We're not-"

"Because I always thought you'd make a lovely June bride." Dean pressed on, not letting his little brother argue. "And you two can have a baby right off, in the spring."

"Ha ha." Sam said slowly, in a way that did not actually hold any amusement.

"Do I get to walk you down the aisle, Samantha?"

"You're not even invited." And Dean could finally hear the smile in his brother's voice. "We can't count on you to not get drunk and touch the other guests inappropriately."

"Aw, come on, dude. That was one time."

"She was old enough to be our grandmother, Dean," Sam was laughing at the memory.

"That didn't stop her." Dean was trying to keep the smile out of his voice and was failing miserably. "She was one fine-ass cougar."

"They're not called cougars when they get that old, Dean. She was more of a… a snow leopard."

"What can I say? I like a lady with experience." Which was almost accurate, but the truth behind that night and the wedding that they crashed was simple: she had been WAY too old for him. It had only been the tequila shots at the open bar and then the champagne fountain that had put the idea in his mind that Edith had been a good plan. Sam had never quite let him live that one down.

Dean finally broke and laughed along with his brother, though honestly, Sam thought it was much funnier than it actually was.

While waiting for his brother to calm down enough to speak he fished a beer from the fridge, popping the cap off with the aid of the counter edge. Dean took a swig and shook his head.

"Come on, man. You pulled me away from something important. What did you need?" He started, not particularly wanting to cut the conversation short, but his arms were feeling strangely empty, and he knew that the fix for that was out in the junk yard waiting for him - slender, warm and smelling like everything Dean had ever craved.

"Yeah." Sam cleared his voice of the last few chuckles. "Gabe told me to look into some things before he left."

"Things?" Dean raised a brow, pulling a chair out from the table and sitting in it backwards, resting his arms on the high wooden back.

"Angelic lore mostly, and the war."

"Dude, your _Angel_ boyfriend made _you_ research _Angel_ stuff. Shouldn't he be sort of an expert?"

Sam sighed and he sounded a lot more tired than he had a few moments ago. "There're things that he can't talk to me about, Dean, and then there are things he just doesn't know about. He says that he's been out of contact with his brothers for too long and he's out of the loop."

"He can't just call them up and ask how the war's going?" He tapped his ring against the neck of the bottle.

"They don't seem to like him too much, as far as I can tell." And for some reason, Sam sounded sad about that.

Dean could hear the Angel in question arguing indistinctly with Bobby on the other side of the house – something about eating him out of house and home. "Gee, I wonder why? He's so loveable."

The younger brother sighed again. "Anyways- I think I found someone who might know what's going on."

"And?"

"And he's in Montana."

Dean took another, slower drink. "You want me to go check it out." He didn't ask, but let out a sigh. "Where in Montana?"

"Absarokee, it's-"

"West of Columbus, just down rout 78. I know where it is." He stretched, mentally calculating how long it would take him to drive there. "What?" He asked when he heard his brother chuckling.

"How do you not know what Myspace is, but you know how to get to Absarokee?"

"Computer stuff is your gig, Sammy." He stood and tossed back the rest of his beer. "Geography is mine."

"But they've got a population of like… only a thousand people." There was the soft click of computer keys as if Sam needed to verify his own facts. "It's not even on most maps."

"Whatever." He chucked the empty bottle into the recycle bin beside the door and glanced at the clock on the stove. "I can get there by tomorrow morning. Who am I looking for?"

This was just his nature. Dean didn't actually need to know _why_ Sammy was sending him on a ten hour drive over two state lines. What he was supposed to be looking for when he got there was of very little importance. Sam could have told him that there was a tribe of blood thirsty lawn gnomes or a unicorn sighting. Dean would have laughed at him, but he would have gone just the same, because his brother asked him to, and that was reason enough.

He let Bobby know what was going on and went down to the basement to pack his duffle. He didn't need much; it wouldn't be a long trip. With any luck he would be able to make it to Montana and back before tomorrow night. He was double checking his guns and getting ready to go when he suddenly remembered that he had left Cas waiting for him outside. After a moment's hesitation and planning, Dean dug into the depths of his duffle, until his fingers found what they were after.

The windows of the Impala had fogged slightly, and Dean could just barely make out the image of the Angel draped over the back seat, looking at perfect peace with the whole of the universe. His lanky, denim clad legs were crooked up with his feet pressed to the driver's side door and they came spilling awkwardly out when Dean opened the door.

He slapped at the scuffed tennis shoes that had once belonged to Sam and were infinitely too big on the Angel who wore them with careless abandon. "Scoot over," Dean directed, grinning when Cas pulled his legs back into the car and made room for him.

"You came back." He said with a gentle expression, drawing his knees up to his chest, looking small but content.

"Always." He closed the door behind him, still smiling because it was not often that he found himself in the backseat of his baby. He had made quite a few good memories back here; even if they were a little overshadowed by the fact that there were still a few dark smears of Angel blood staining the seats from the night they'd first met.

"Sam's sending me to Montana." He started off with a smile that had been known to get panties off in under a minute, but (for a change) that wasn't Dean's intent. "I should be back late tomorrow night. I won't be gone long."

The peaceful expression waivered. "You mean _we_ will be back late tomorrow, right?"

"Come here." Dean evaded.

"I _am_ here, Dean." Cas tilted his head slightly, confused as to how the other man could miss such an obvious fact.

"Closer." He urged and felt a little jolt of emotion that could have easily be mistaken for desire when he was immediately obeyed. There was just something profoundly alluring at the thought of having someone following his orders without question. He could think of quite a few good uses for such an ability, but as such thoughts were far from productive, he swallowed a slightly rough chuckle and pressed onward. "I've been thinking that I know how your friend found us."

"Friend?" Their knees were touching now. It was nice and distracting.

"The dude your brother blew up." Dean carried on despite the Angel's vehement denial of any sort of friendship. "And I don't want to leave you here without the proper safety precautions."

"I don't want you to leave me here."

But his mind had been made up before leaving the basement. Cas wasn't coming with him to Montana. "It's not up for discussion. I'll only be gone a day and you'll be better off here, in a warded house, where your brother and Bobby can keep an eye on you, than you would be with just me, in a car, in the middle of no-man's land." He caught hold of Cas' shirt and gently tugged it up, exposing a tantalizing spread of pale skin. "Your scribbles are a bit faded - I bet that's how he found you."

Cas blinked at Dean, then looked down at his own smudged torso. "It has been a number of days since the sigils were reinforced."

"And quite a few showers, if I remember correctly." Dean smiled reassuringly and pulled out the sharpie that he had dug from the very depths of his duffle. There was nothing wrong with the fact that he kept a mental log of how frequently the Angel bathed. He tried to remind himself of that fact. There was probably even a place where things like that were perfectly normal.

"With everything else going on since we arrived-" Cas' words waivered while he watched with a profoundly fascinated expression, as Dean helped him out of his shirt. "It had slipped my mind."

"Well, I'm fixing it now." It was a decent parting gift, Dean thought - plus, he didn't even have to go to the store for it. Dean was lousy at shopping for present anyways.

The symbols were laid out with distinct precision, and Dean found he had a new appreciation for tattoo artists. They must have to do some ink in fairly interesting places, and he didn't understand how they could stay focused with so much warm flesh willingly waiting beneath their hands. It was all he could do to keep his attention on his work, and not just push the man down into the leather seats and pick back up from where they'd left off.

It was not helped by the fact that somehow Dean ended up with a lapful of Angel, who watched his every movement with the sort of intensity normally reserved for defusing bombs.

"I'm coming with you," the Angel said, simply, quietly, not really demanding but not asking either.

"This isn't a democracy. We're not voting on it." Dean let his thumb gently press down between the last two ribs on Cas' left, feeling the strong arch of bone beneath his fingers. "Besides, there ain't no place safer than Bobby's."

"But if you leave, who will protect you?"

He snorted softly. "I've been protecting my own damn self since long before you came along, Cas. Thank you very much." Then as an afterthought, in an attempt to soften the fact that he was still leaving in a few minutes, he leaned forward and gently kissed the Angel's collar bone. His skin was soft and left an almost sweet taste on Dean's lips. Like coriander and cloves. "I'll be fine."

Mildly surprised eyes blinked down at him, or more specifically, at his mouth. The Angel's cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink and he averted his gaze. Dean took this as a rousing bout of encouragement and presented another kiss, this one grazing a pale shoulder, pausing when he felt Cas' hand come up to roughly tangle in his hair, fingernails biting into Dean's scalp. Four more kisses fell, one after another, until he reached the rough underside of the Angel's jaw and Dean quietly decided that he needed to teach Cas to shave at some point in the near future.

"You are attempting to distract me." A second hand slid warmly around the back of Dean's neck. "I need to go with you. I promised to keep you safe." He arched slightly and made a truly intriguing sound, low in his chest when yet another kiss found the edge of his ear.

The hunter growled in response. It wasn't deliberate; he just couldn't help himself. And when Cas shuddered against him, Dean was in no way responsible for the fact that he bit the Angel. It was nothing more than a scrape of teeth along the soft curve of his ear, but just like that, Cas was curling against him, trembling, making desperate sounds in the back of his throat. All thoughts of the reinforcement of Enochian sigils were momentarily dropped, along with the sharpie as Dean's hands found something far better to hold onto.

"I can handle the big, scary monsters all on my own." Which did _not_ mean that he was not desperately enamored with the idea that Cas didn't want him to leave. Dean bit down again, and he was not nearly as gentle the second time.

Cas was whimpering - his breaths staggered. He released his grip on Dean's hair in favor of wrapping his bare arms around the man in a clumsy embrace. "But these are not normal monsters, Dean." For some unknown reason, he was still struggling to keep up their conversation. "These are former Angels." He shifted, his boney ass digging into Dean's thighs. "You are not equipped to deal with Angels on your own."

"I don't know," he grinned in a way that was typically prohibited from being used outside of dim bars or foreign bedrooms. "I think I've been handling the Angels in my life fairly well so far."

It was like Cas had some bizarre, other worldly restraint, and despite the fact that he was keening softly, he managed to pull away. "Dean, if I hadn't been with you, you would have died." Cas had developed a deep frown, the sort that promised to leave permanent traces if not dealt with in a timely manner. "Angels have powers far beyond your comprehension. We can level cities, move mountains, turn people to pillars of salt."

"Cas-"

"If I was still in possession of my Grace I could do anything to you- from throwing your forward through time to witness your own death, to ripping out your soul, and there would not be a single thing that you could do to stop me. And, Dean," he made a wounded sound deep in his throat, soft and almost inaudible. "I was never a powerful Angel. Those who followed Lucifer down below have always been stronger than me. And despite your impressive credentials, you're still only human."

A battered sigh slipped out and Dean wanted to shout, or throttle the man perched on his lap. The Angel was taking a perfectly inappropriate sort of goodbye, and turning it into a real downer. "I'll be fine, Cas." He wasn't sure how many times he had said those words since getting in this position, but he knew it was too many. "It's not _me_ they're interested in."

Cas made that hurt noise again - a little louder this time; his blue eyes wide and lamenting something that he could not seem to put words to other than: "I don't want you to go without me."

"You're safer here." Dean forced out, stubbornly clinging to his argument even though he could feel his resolve weakening.

"I am going with you." He leaned forward - his chest pressing against Dean's, as he reclaimed the marker from where it had been dropped beneath the seat. "And it would be best for you to finish this before we leave. It should help to keep us hidden."

The sharpie was pressed into his hand and he grumbled as he took it back, pulling the cap off with his teeth and spitting it down beside his feet. Dean shifted his long legs, rocking Cas back so that he bumped against the wrong side of the driver's seat, eliciting a surprised puff of air. "Fine." Dean forced between clenched teeth. "But you keep that pretty mouth of yours shut until I finish." Just because he had lost didn't mean that he had to be graceful about it.

Cas looked like he wanted to say something, but clicked his mouth closed, his lips pressing into a tight line. He watched the hunter work as if he could never tire of it, his eyes glinting like wet obsidian, following Dean's careful movements over his body. Cas settled into place - pale, bare arms stretching out behind him, hooking over the headrest of the front seats. He kept quiet- just like he had been told to do.

The Angel was splayed out like a sacrificial offering, and his iron-clad will was the only thing keeping Dean from indulging. His hands didn't even tremble while he worked. It was impressive.

Dean denied his worries the chance to torment him. He was just going to run a little twenty-four hour errand for Sam; it was not likely to turn into a blitz. Cas might be safe… hell, Dean might be safe too. Everything could come up fucking roses. Stranger things had happened.

The last careful line was laid, slipping down in a delicate twist over the end of the Angel's sternum. "You have exquisite penmanship." Were the first words to rumble out of Cas, like close thunder in the confines of the car. He looked as though he'd wanted to say that for a while, but of course – Dean had told him to keep quiet, and Cas was nothing if not compliant.

And Dean was unsure how to reply to that. "I try?" The sharpie was idly twirled between his fingers, and he glanced at the fogged white windows. Dean still had a lap full of half-dressed Angel, and suddenly felt very unsure as to the proper course of action.

But, he had ideas.

Plenty of ideas.

Some of them even filthy enough that he almost embarrassed himself.

But now didn't really seem like the right time or place to start. The whole ins and outs (no pun intended) of sex with another man were not exactly a mystery, however it would still be new to him. He had no practical experience in this field. That made the prospect a little scary, but not a normal '_life (or sometimes, in Dean's case – Death) is trying to kill me'_ scary. It was more in the same way that roller coasters were scary. There was the promise of thrilling turns and drops and there was almost a definite guarantee that there would be screaming- and despite all that, everyone would probably make it out in one piece with a grin in place and a case of the giggles. He was pretty sure that sex with a man (or more specifically, Cas) would be a lot like that.

He had wonderfully bad intentions, ones that would take many hours - if not the better part of a whole night - to bring to a glorious culmination. That realization alone made a warm fizzing feeling build in his gut, like pop rocks and coke. Horrifying and exciting- but mostly the first one.

Dean looked at Cas - how he was slouched with his bared hips tilted towards him, and his pale, marked chest, tight with his arms crooked back behind his shoulders. He was finally looking away from Dean, admiring his own skin and the careful, black lines drawn there.

Despite any other leaps in logic that Dean could make about the Angel, the creature obviously embodied pure innocence of unspeakable magnitudes, and _very_ likely a virgin. That was not a condition that Dean felt comfortable taking lightly.

If and when it finally did happen, it wouldn't be quick and dirty as per any normal courses of backseat of the Impala hanky-panky. It would be slow and careful and perhaps even something worthy of the epic sin that deflowering an Angel was sure to incur.

Everything spinning through his torrid thoughts aside, they didn't have time for what Dean wanted to do. He needed to get on the road soon if he was going to make it to Absarokee before dawn.

He rested his empty hand on Cas' leg, drawing the man's attention in a level and weighty gaze. "If you're really coming, we should get going. We're burning daylight."

"But you need your markings reinforced as well, Dean. If they can find you they will be able to find me."

"Ah, but they aren't looking for me." He tried to not run his thumbnail along the inseam of the Angel's pants but found himself relatively unsuccessful in that particular endeavor.

"Yes," he slid forward on Dean's lap, and the friction of it was a new and exciting feeling that dragged an embarrassing noise from the hunter. If Cas noticed he made no mention and simply pilfered the little black marker that had never ceased its idle twirling between Dean's rough fingers. "They _are_ looking for you, Dean. They have been for some time- even before I fell- and it's been difficult to keep them away."

Dean felt a hitch in his breath - a subtle but very important hiccup in his steady thoughts. "Why would they be looking for me?"

"I am not permitted to speak of it." He said cautiously as Dean gawked at him.

"Well isn't that fucking convenient?" Dean muttered.

"I will not argue with you any longer about this. It is your turn to be quiet while I work." His knees were butting up against the upholstery on either side of Dean's hips and they were close enough now that the air shared between them felt too thin. "Now, take your shirt off."

* * *

Possibly the best part of doing Sam's leg work was that, during the exodus from Bobby's, Dean was able to drop Gabriel off at the airport. The little Angel had the audacity to try and call shotgun, and seemed far from happy when he found himself sitting in the backseat with a heavy backpack of books to take home to Sam, and his little brother cruising in the front. Dean lingered in the white zone that was strictly for the loading and unloading of passengers only. And, god, Dean was glad to be unloading the odd little man.

"Hey, Deano, you'll give your brother a call when you find out something, right?" He was halfway out the door; hand on the back of Cas' seat. There was a look on his face: one that spoke volumes. He wanted to know about whatever they were going to Montana to find for him, but he also wanted to know about Castiel. He was still waiting for Dean to dig deep enough to find out why the quiet Angel was on the lamb.

Dean managed a little wink. "Sure, shortstack. I'll give Sammy a call when I know what's up."

They shared a grin that completely bypassed the man sitting between them. Gabriel closed his door, but paused again to press his face to Cas' window and blow many kisses to his very startled looking younger brother.

Laughter bubbled out of Dean and he pulled away, leaving the blonde waving enthusiastically at the bumper of the car that Bobby had leant them for the drive. It was a quiet reminder of just how much Dean needed to finish fixing the Impala. He hated bucket seats; his legs didn't fit quite right, and the damn thing had a manual transmission. Not that there was normally something wrong with driving a stick-shift, but on long stretches of highway with very few turns and even fewer reasons to change speed it made his right hand feel useless where it idled on the gearshift.

They drove through the badlands, with nothing to see but miles of fields and an occasional ranch house to break the monotony. They spoke of unimportant things - mostly Dean explaining combustion engines (again), passing on important knowledge concerning classic rock bands, or tales of him and Sam when they were kids.

Every so often he even earned a sound that he came to realize was the Angel's equivalent of a laugh. It was a coarse noise, like a startled gasp, but when Dean glanced over, he saw the shadow of a smile on the man beside him.

It instantly became something like a grail to Dean. He had a new goal, a quest if you will – something far more entertaining than playing twenty-questions (because Dean didn't need to think too long to realize what a disaster that would be). With the help of a few bizarre retellings of his more embarrassing misadventures, he earned eight more laughs before six o'clock. There was no real rhyme or reason to it all as far as he could tell - perhaps Cas just had a strange sense of humor, and he laughed at some of the more off beat comments. But those odd little chuckles made Dean's blood hum, and the effort was well worth it.

It came down to the story of when Dean was sixteen and he got waylaid in a motel in northern Texas with Sam, who had a broken ankle. John left them there, unattended, for three weeks and the two brothers got up what Sam had always called 'serious shenanigans'.

Cas was giving one of his awkwardly painful sounding chuckles when Dean got to the part where the young Winchesters got kicked out of a movie theater showing 'Die Hard With a Vengeance', for having a popcorn fight, and Dean had to help Sam limp away.

"I can imagine it perfectly." One of his long fingered hands found Dean's, where it rested absentmindedly on the gearshift, the feather light touch trailing upwards in a way that almost tickled. "You two escaping, covered in food."

Dean twisted his wrist, catching the Angel's hand in his own to keep it from tracing over some of the faded scars that danced up his forearm. "Sam was so mad about missing the end of the movie he made me sneak him back in that night, but the damn manager recognized us and tossed us again." He kept their hands together, twining their fingers carefully and he'd be lying if he said he'd kept his eyes on the road the whole time.

"You two should have been more covert in your efforts." There was a warmth spreading over his face as he looked down to where their bodies were connected. It was possible that he had never held hands with anyone before, but it was obvious that he was enjoying the sensation.

"We got kicked out of the same movie for the rest of the week. We kept hobbling Sammy to different theaters around town and seeing how quick we could get kicked out." Dean knew he was grinning again.

"But why?"

That sort of question elicited a shrug. "Because it made Sam happy." Did there need to be any deeper reason?

Cas grew quiet and when Dean glanced over he was struck by the tender expression breaking over the other man.

"What?" He fumbled over the singular word.

"I wish that my own brothers were as compassionate as you are with Samuel."

"I'm sure that Angels fucking bleed compassion." He gave Cas' hand a gentle squeeze. "Seems like it would sort of come with the job description."

"Some can be quite kind, when they have a need to be." He shifted in his seat, turning slightly to watch the landscape slide past like a well-oiled mural. "Gabriel used to be very gentle." He lightly squeezed back, their fingers sliding together warmly.

Not for the first time, Dean was unsure what to say in response to such a statement, so he raised Cas' hand to his lips and grazed a kiss over the man's knuckles, before settling their hands onto his lap, and wondering how to tell him that he thought that Cas was compassionate.

The Angel fell asleep somewhere around the state line and stayed that way until they pulled into an all-night truck stop sometime after full dark. Dean managed to wake the Angel with sweet promises of burgers. They stumbled into the fluorescently lit hole in the wall and ate in relative silence, two bacon burgers for one, and a pig in a poke for the other- Dean drinking both their cups of coffee.

"How much further is it to this place we are going?" Cas looked up from his catsup covered fingers, looking like they had been dipped in blood that was too red and too thick.

"A handful of hours. You gunna' make it?" He tipped the sugar shaker over his second mug, adding gratuitous amounts of the white stuff, knowing that he was going to need the burst of caffeine and sweetness before the night was done.

"Are we able to kiss while you drive?" Cas asked with one of his most innocent expressions, and Dean only _almost_ dropped the sugar.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "But in the middle of the night, in the pitch black… we probably shouldn't risk it." He stirred his coffee and avoided eye contact because he was certain if he saw the Angel's face he would start laughing, or grinning, or something else that screamed of guilt. Though he was honestly not sure what he was guilty of.

"Well, I will find something else to occupy my time."

Dean wanted to offer a few suggestions, but wisely drank his coffee instead.

As it went, Cas managed to stay awake for a few hours, and this time it was _his_ turn to tell stories of his childhood (or whatever one would call angelic adolescence). His cadence needed work, the subtle nuance of a punch line was completely lost to him, and he didn't seem understand where a proper story should start or stop… but he did his best. Mostly, Dean just liked to hear him talking.

The stories were more or less completely lost to Dean, but he listened and replied with approving noises where he thought necessary. They were peculiar tales to be sure, feeling almost biblical in nature and Dean didn't know if he was supposed to laugh or feel worried.

"Cas." He interrupted.

"-and his … yes, Dean?" His eyes fluttered as he focused in on something far closer than his memories.

"How old are you?"

That question gave him pause, and he seemed to really be considering the question before answering. "I do not know how to count it in human years."

"Were you born, or however that works," he wiggled his fingers over the steering wheel, "before the Regan era?"

"Regan?" The Angel shifted in the darkness. "I don't understand that reference."

"Are you older than me?" Dean tried to clarify.

"I was created long before humanity. I am considerably older than you." And how anyone could make such an outrageous statement in such a damnably calm way was beyond understanding.

"No shit?" was all Dean managed to choke out.

"I don't…" but he sounded more confused than anything else and shook his head with a quiet sigh. "As I was saying- his sword was lost in battle." Cas picked up where he had been interrupted, retelling what was possibly a very heroic tale of a brother named Balthazar fighting alongside him during a war that had taken place long before Dean was even so much as a glint in his great grandfather's eye.

The words washed over Dean, their meaning unimportant, while he struggled to figure out if this made Castiel a cougar - or as Sam had put it - a snow leopard, or maybe something else altogether. It was a difficult concept to even wrap his mind around, but in the end it all equaled out to the Angel being unfathomably too old for Dean.

It didn't upset him like he knew it should.

It just made him grin.

Every now and then his life was just weird and wonderful.

* * *

Surprisingly enough, it was Sunday morning in Absarokee. Not that it would be any different day in any other part of the United States, but the days of the week rarely meant much to Dean. The only reason he could even figure out that they had driven though their Saturday night, was that the single church in Absarokee, which was surrounded by cars and patrons dressed in their nicest and cleanest clothes.

Dean gently shook Cas awake, despairing to have to rouse him from his cute, drooling slouch against the window. "Hey, Cas, fancy going to church?"

Those beautiful eyes lit up in an instant. "I would enjoy that very much." He caught sight of the small white building down the street; its spire and cross shining brightly in the morning light. "I have never had an opportunity to enter an earthly chapel."

"Great. Go. Pray, sing- do whatever. I'll go talk to what's his face and be back before the closing halleluiah." Churches were hallowed ground and Dean knew that the Angel would be safe. It was such a flawless plan. He could go talk to the dude for Sam, and not have to worry about making excuses for his off kilter companion, whilst also having the peace of mind that his Angel was somewhere out of harm's way.

Cas frowned slightly, but church bells had started to ring, and apparently that was sign enough that he should go. He nuzzled a soft kiss into Dean's cheek and pulled himself from the car, hurrying down the sidewalk with an excited bounce to his step.

The man Dean was looking for was an old hunter named Kaleb Elias. Not knowing his exact location, Dean stopped in a little diner he had passed on his way into town. There were only two cars in the parking lot; a pair of heretics who didn't need the salvation of a sermon, so much as they needed a greasy breakfast. These were more of Dean's kind of people. They would be able to point him in the right direction.

As it turned out the occupants were an old man who had as many teeth as he had fingers, settled at a table in the corner with a tall cup of strong coffee, and a waitress that was too young to be working legally in this state. She looked bored where she lingered behind the bar, flipping through a magazine and popping her gum quietly. But when the intrusive bell on the door jingled to announce a new customer, she glanced over, immediately taking up a look of interest.

"Mornin'." She smiled though an unwarranted blush. _This would be easier than he thought._

"Good morning, yourself." He slid up to the bar and gave her a well-rehearsed smile.

He talked with her. He joked and grinned and told her all about how the town looked so different to him, how he hadn't been though here since his dad took him up to visit his old army pal, Kaleb. But sadly, he couldn't remember how to get to the old man's place.

It was the biggest lie Dean had told in days. He had no idea if his father had known this man, and if he did, it was almost certain that they were _not_ old pals of any kind. There wasn't anyone that seemed capable of remaining friends with John Winchester after knowing him for more than a few months, and Dean really hoped that there was no bad blood to be had. He didn't need to be on the man's bad side before they even met.

Katie (her laminated name tag said) was more than happy to give him directions up to Mr. Elias' house, and Dean was more than happy to take a piece of apple pie to go and leave her a tip bigger than the bill.

Sometimes life was easy on him, sometimes things just worked out like they were supposed to. Not often, but every once in a while a plan came together.

Today felt like one of those rare days.

He drove the eight miles down an unpaved dirt road and came to a rambling, clay tiled ranch house that looked like it had migrated up from Arizona or New Mexico. It was almost a picture perfect scene. It wasn't until Dean cut the engine and opened the car door, that he realized that something was amiss.

If the rust colored smears of old blood on the lintel of the front door was not evidence enough, the deathly silence of nature was a definite bad omen. There were no birds, bees, wind, not even a fucking frog. Nothing at all stirred in the crisp morning air, other than his own cautious breaths and the soft rattle of the engine dying down. This was, most emphatically, not going to be one of those magically easy days.


	13. Chapter 13

an: So, this took a bit longer than normal for delivery, sorry.

I promise smoochy faces in the next chapter to make up for it.

* * *

Dean knocked on the door, because that was the polite thing to do, even in these sorts of situations. The only notable difference between this and any other occasion was the fact that he had a gun openly visible in his grip. But he was sure that no one would be answering his knocking.

He was sure, because death was just a feeling that you grew accustomed to. It wasn't a smell, or the cues from tell-tale blood splatters (that were much too violently smeared about for any one person to survive). No. It was a prickle up the back of your spine, and a weight that settled somewhere in that back of your mind, in a place that was always aware of your own mortality and sensed the tangible threat. It was a cold warning that was unmistakable once you knew it.

And there was death in this house.

No one answered his intrusion into the frightfully silent morning.

Dean tried the handle, and wasn't at all surprised to see that the thing wasn't locked. There was more blood inside and the stink of death was stronger than ever. It smelled like a slaughter house, all raw meat and spilled guts. And Dean felt lucky that the warmth of spring had yet to reach this far North, because heat combined with all the raw violence would have been enough to turn the bodies to rot and the pie in Dean's stomach would have made a comeback.

From the sight in the lounge, he would have estimated the body count at three, but unless he actually found that many separate skulls he wouldn't have put money on it. The identifiable bits _looked_ human, if that counted for anything. And at least one had been male if the hairy left arm/torso combo on the rug counted for anything. It all looked fresh, no more than two days must have passed since whoever had been minced. Though minced would have indicated clean cuts, and the ragged edges and splintered bones looked a lot more like the men had been torn apart, or something else even less precise.

It was enough. Dean knew he was too late to speak to Kaleb. Someone had gotten here before him, and even if under other circumstances, a slaughter like this would have been something inexplicably horrible… sometimes violent deaths had a way with catching up to people, and hunters more so than average men. They sort of courted their own deaths, and they all knew that they would leave this world in a bad way whenever they did.

Without any proper respect for the dead, Dean knew he only had one thing left to do: rifle through the man's belongings and see if anything looked like what Sam was hoping to find. Most hunters kept journals, and with any luck, Kaleb would be nothing short of average. Maybe he kept all his angelic studies neatly typed out and left in an obvious location. That would be nice. He clicked the safety on, tucked his beretta down the back of his jeans and started looking.

Eventually someone would find this hell of a mess, so Dean did his best to avoid leaving finger prints; folding the edge of his jacket around a hand to open cabinets and desk drawers. The hunter's belongings didn't look touched, whoever had done the killing didn't seem to have been interested in looting, so there was still that hope of finding a journal or something else useful - but for the life of him, Dean didn't know where it had been hidden.

He started looking for a panic room, or a library or some such place like where Bobby kept his important documents. What he found instead was the short barrel of a Lupara shotgun leveled at his face. It was hardly more than two inches of steel poking out from a well worn sandalwood stalk, and at such a close range Dean knew that he couldn't pray for the bullet scatter to go wide and miss him. He would be lucky if there was enough left to use his dental records for identification. Happy thoughts.

Dean grew still, the kind of still that was almost impossible for anyone other than marble statues, or perhaps rabbits found in the headlights of oncoming SUVs. He let his eyes slide down the butchered barrel to settle on the face of his attacker.

There were cold grey-green eyes, the color of frosted sage or brittle steel. Those eyes were the first thing Dean saw, wide and wild eyes, panicked but very determined. The next thing to factor into his assessment of the situation was that he was looking _down_ into those eyes. His attacker was shorter than him by almost a whole head, and more importantly, although it was almost an afterthought, was that it was a girl. Her hair was dark and very short, though it had been left longer on the top, long enough that Dean imagined that on a better day she may have spiked it up into one of those trendy, girly Mohawks that he never knew exactly how to feel about. She wore what must have once been a white t-shirt and black jeans slung low on hips that were more than generous. Her feet were bare and showed evidence of the same injuries and dark blood splatters that had soaked through most of her shirt and one side of her neck.

Dean couldn't put any specific age to the girl, but she was old enough to make the rise and fall of her firm breasts enticing and gave Dean a few interesting ideas, but more importantly, she was definitely still young enough that he felt dirty for entertaining such thoughts. Men had gone to jail for less.

"Whoa. Easy there, princess." He said evenly.

"Put your hands on your head and back up." Her voice was soft like wind rustling through leaves, her words damaged and halting. Dean noticed the bruising on her neck; just visible through the dried blood, now that he knew what to look for. Someone had attempted to strangle her.

His hands slowly went to the top of his head, fingers weaving together in an all too familiar gesture. "I'm not looking for trouble."

"I said back the fuck up." The barrel of her gun brushed against the tip of his nose and he did as he was told. Paranormal monsters were one thing, but an angry little girl with a gun was a different story all together. He didn't think he could just make a grab for the shotgun and punch her while keeping a clear conscious.

"Just calm down." He exited the hallway, going back to the limb strewn living room and making an effort not to trip over anything squishy.

She followed him, a rolling gait to her unapologetic hips and Dean could see a glimpse of gauze on one side and the black lines of a tattoo where her shirt didn't quiet meet her belt on the other. He recognized the simple markings; he had the same design over his own heart. But she seemed a little young to be rocking an anti-possession charm.

"Who are you and what are you looking for?" She took up a stance with her back to a wall, where she could easily watch him. She looked tired and definitely injured, there was a trickle of fresh blood on her left forearm, but she kept the gun level.

Despite the fact that she was threatening him with a firearm, Dean decided that he liked her. She was like a tiny heroine from a video game come to stand before him after some serious survival horror, button mashing hell.

"Look, I'm a friend of Kaleb's-"

"Like hell you are. My dad would have mentioned a pretty boy like you. Now tell me who you are or I will pump you so full of lead you'll be able to use your dick as a pencil."

Yeah, he definitely liked her, but more than ever he wanted that gun aimed somewhere else. Apparently the old hunter Sam had sent him to talk to had a kid. It did explain why she was holding her sawed-off like she knew what she was doing. It sort of made them, _what_, coworkers? Maybe this was one of those rare instances where honesty was a good idea. "I'm a hunter... Like your dad. Name's Dean."

Her pale eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Dean. Fine. What are you doing here?"

"Hey, looks to me like you might need some help." He waggled an elbow at the carnage around him.

"Yeah, you're a little late for that." The nose of her gun dipped down just a hair. "Now tell me what you were looking for."

"I'm working a case. I came to talk to Kaleb. He was supposed to have some information that could help." And that was almost a complete truth.

She stared at him like she was trying to look into his soul. He didn't waver under her scrutiny, but raised an eyebrow in anticipation. Apparently he passed some sort of test because she let the gun fall one handed to her side, the muscles in her left arm jumping now that they had a chance to relax. She winced and slumped slightly against the wall. "Dean," she said his name slowly, like she was readying to say something else, but then just shook her head and somehow managed to look more worn.

"What happened here?" He took his hands from his head now that they had reached some sort of understanding.

"Ghouls." was the simple explanation. She didn't need to say anymore, but she kept going; the words starting to spill from her. "I came home late last night... they were- were feeding on what was left of Dad and Joshua and-" her gun hand came to her mouth to stifle a pained noise.

Dean couldn't let any girl, from jailbait to grandmother just stand alone and cry surrounded by the dismembered bits of her family. "Hey-" All he managed was one word and one step closer and her gun swung back to him in a quick, mechanical movement, this time pointed at his stomach.

Her eyes were rimmed in red now, unspent tears shining in the angled morning light coming in through the window beside her. "Listen, fucker, I don't know you and you don't come any closer, got it?"

"Jesus Christ, kid. Calm down. I'm not gunna' hurt you." He had raised his hands again, holding them palm out and hoping that she somehow got the idea that he really wasn't any danger to her.

She sniffled, her cute, lightly freckled nose wrinkling slightly. "Dean?" Something slid across her eyes, a little light of recognition breaking through her hard and defensive mask. "Are you one of John's boys?"

He stiffened slightly.

"You are… I can see it in your jaw." She lowered her gun again. "And your eyes." The gun thudded against the floor. "He used to come around now and then. Dad always sent me to bed early, didn't like me spending time with his hunting buddies. 'Specially not John. Keep clear of that John Winchester, he told me. Man is a stubborn son of a bitch and dangerous as hell, with the disposition of a fucking hurricane. John's always looking for trouble… but my dad trusted him." She stepped away from the wall, still watching him, but the caution was ebbing away. "I used to sneak down the hall, hide in the kitchen and listen to them talk. John… he always spoke well of his boys."

Dean swallowed thickly. Apparently Kaleb had known his dad- and, surprisingly, somehow John had managed not to completely ostracize himself just this once.

"How are you at first aid, Dean?"

"I… I can hold my own." He relaxed finally, or at least, as much as anyone could in a room like this.

"I fixed up my side as best as I cold, but-" she half turned and Dean saw the source of the blood that was still dripping down her arm. The back of her shirt was shredded, thick blood sticking it to her shoulder.

He followed her to the bathroom. It was surprisingly untouched by the violence in the rest of the house. Dean patched her up as best as he could with half a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a roll of gauze, managing to keep the fact that he had a shirtless girl sitting in front of him innocent as a physically possible.

She sat on the counter, her back to him and he could see in the mirror that her pale blue bra had black lace in the front. It was pointedly more interesting than the teeth marks on her back, but the open wound demanded his attention more. She hardly made a noise, but it must have hurt like hell. Dean tried to talk to her through it; it kept them both a little distracted.

Her name was Adelaide, but she went by Andy. Apparently she had seventeen years to call her very own (a fact that made Dean feel only marginally less like a creeper) and she had, up until sometime the night before been the youngest of Kaleb Elias' three kids. She was the only girl, and now the only kid left at all. She had managed to gank the two ghouls she found in the house, if only because they had been so distracted with eating her family that she had taken them by surprise.

By the time Dean got her cleaned up and taped up she was crying. He awkwardly held her for a while and she let him. Losing your family was enough to earn anyone a hug. He rocked her gently, and said soft things, the sort of crap that he had heard Sam say too many times to people who were falling apart in the face of whatever horror had reared it face that day. The whole while Dean found himself wondering how two ghouls had managed to take down a seasoned hunter, his full grown boys (presumably also in the family business) only to be fucked up by a little girl not even old enough to get into an R rated movie on her own. She was hard as nails, Dean had seen the determination when they met with her gun between them, but she was still just a kid.

She rested her head against his shoulder, sucking in soft breaths and getting her shakes in line. "Sorry- I don't normally- It's just been a long night." She mumbled into his jacket.

"Hey, don't." He gently gave her a squeeze, careful of her shoulder and lower back and the thickly tapped gauze. "Don't apologize."

It was a slow breath that she drew, a last attempt to get all the horror under control. "You said you came to talk to Dad."

"Yeah, but that's not really importation now. Maybe we should call the police, or get you to a hospital-" He trailed off, withering slightly under the look that she was giving him from beneath her dark lashes. She had a point with that glair. What the hell would they tell the police, or medics for that matter? How do you easily explain disturbingly human teeth marks, or hand shaped bruises on a teenage girl's neck without inviting a full on police investigation. Not to mention if police came into this mess it would be even more difficult to explain the parts of people strewn about the house. Ah, the gloriously complicated life or a hunter- or hunter in training as was Andy's case. Though if taking on two ghouls wasn't some kind of epic trial by fire, Dean didn't know what was at this point.

"Look, I need to help. Let me help." She sat up, seemingly unable to feel embarrassed at the fact that she was just in jeans and a bra in front of a man that she did not know. "You can't just pass me off to the fuzz and leave me here with... all this!"

"Uh, I'm not taking you anywhere with me. I mean, I can give you a ride to a bus stop or something but-"

"I'm not asking you to adopt me, you ass. But if you needed to talk to m-my dad," she only trembled the slightest bit. "I'm the closest thing you're going to get."

Dean took his arms from around her, finding a towel hanging on the back of the door and wrapped it around her shoulders, hiding away her breasts (which really were perfect- if Dean had to pick a word to describe them).

"All right." He sat on the edge of the tub, putting some space between them because today had gone downhill quickly and he needed the air. "Your dad, he's supposed to be some sort of expert on Angels. I need to know what he knew."

"Angels?" She raised one careful brow and Dean got a sinking feeling. He had never believed in the feathery bastards before he actually saw one in the flesh. They had to still be nothing more than myths and legends to everyone else. What if Kaleb had never shared his knowledge with his kids, or worse, what if Sam had been grossly misinformed and the old hunter had no idea about Angels or heaven and the war- and the only thing that Dean had managed to do with his weekend was find a traumatized girl and the remnants of her family.

"Yeah." He grinned weakly. "Did he keep a journal or anything?"

"A journal about Angels." She tried to clarify.

"Does that sound as crazy as I think it does?"

Andy looked away, eyes sliding to the half open door and the hallway beyond and she hunched her shoulders. "Dad was always- he kept talking about-" her pale eyes closed tightly. "It was a war… Angels and demons and all kinds of shit that wasn't supposed to be real- all things considered. I mean, with everything else that is trying to kill us it would be nice to believe that there is something good in the world. Something like Angels."

Dean thought of Cas. "If it makes any difference- I believe in them."

She made a soft, amused sound, peeking over at him. "Do you?"

"Don't laugh, but yeah, I do. In fact, I've got one riding shotgun with me. Dropped him off at the church in town before driving up here. And my kid brother is dating one… I think."

"Dating an Angel?" She almost smiled. "Is that allowed?"

"You know what? I don't think it is." He managed to sort of smile back. "But as long as they're happy, I'm staying out of it."

"Dad kept a journal, he kept a few of them." She pulled her soft pink towel tighter around her shoulders and that strangely determined expression was back. "You can have them, but you've got to help me with something."

Dean didn't like making deals with people he didn't know, but she was a bit of a mess, and call him chauvinist, but he had always had a soft spot for damsels in distress. "Tell me what you need."

She struggled for a moment, trying to force the words out. "Help me salt and burn what's left of them. I need to know they're at rest."

"No problem." He gave her a genuine smile. He was sort of planning to do it anyways, even if she hadn't asked. There was no point in taking risks.

She closed her eyes again, looking relieved and just plain tired. "Thanks."

Dean stayed close while she went to a relatively clean and safe looking side of the house to pack up whatever she thought she might need. She wouldn't be staying, and she also didn't seem interested in telling Dean where she planned to go after this. From a box in the vegetable drawer of the refrigerator she presented three hand bound journals. The petite girl also managed to pull out of the kitchen pantry a collection of books that resembled toms Bobby would have kept, as well as what must have amounted to her father's arsenal. Guns, holy water, ammo, knives, they all went into a bag with her books. She was packing up her life, and all Dean could do was watch.

"Is that everything?" He really wished Sam was here. He was sure there were appropriate words, protocol even that was supposed to be followed in these sorts of situations.

She gave a terse nod, one bag slung over each thin shoulder. Andy glanced towards the living room again, where all that remained of her family had been scattered like so many broken toys, and her lower lips started to tremble.

"Hey," he gently bumped one of her elbows with his own. "Go wait outside. I'll take care of this." He nodded back to the carnage that managed to stay just out of sight.

An argument formed on her lips, but there was pain in her eyes and she buckled, looking down at her now shod feet. She nodded again, quick and almost harsh before leaving though the back door.

Dean did the dirty work, there was no sense in making the girl handle the remains.

It took longer than he had thought it would, but there were more pieces that he had originally assumed there would be. Some had teeth marks, others were just broken, unidentifiable bits of flesh. He piled them on the compost heap out back and doused it all with a canister of salt and a bottle of lighter fluid.

There were last rights, gentle sorts of prayers normally reserved for priests to say over dear people who had passed- not for tired hunters to say over the bodies of people who may or may not have been good men. Dean said them just the same and hoped that these men rested well.

By the time Dean made it back to the car, Andy was gone. Distantly there came the rumble of a motorcycle and he could see the dust trail billowing down the road in its wake. He stood there dumbly for a few breaths, and just let her go. Her father's journals were resting on the hood of his car, their worn pages ruffling in a light breeze that had finally picked up. He sighed, scooped them up and went to go fetch Cas. He wasn't positive how much time had passed since he left the man behind, but it was long enough. Mass should have let up by now, and hopefully the Angel had not decided to run away with any of the practitioners or taken any vows or something else equally regrettable.

* * *

He found his Angel sitting in the back of the chapel, his head bowed in prayer, shoulders smooth and relaxed, and Dean was unsure as to exactly when he had mentally started to refer to Cas as _his, _but there was a definite ring to it. He settled himself down beside the praying man, willing to wait until he was done communing or whatever it was that had him so still and occupied.

Cas shuttered like a sudden chill had risen, shaking him from his supplication. He turned to look at Dean, his piercing eyes too wide. "What have you done?"

Immediately Dean looked over his own clothes, worried that he had not managed to get the Elias family's blood off of him. He was clean, but that didn't seem to factor into the look being drilled through him. "What?"

The Angel's hands came up and ghosted over Dean's shoulders and down his arms, almost like Cas was afraid to touch him. "What have you done?" He repeated and it was no longer a gentle request- it was a demand laced with anger.

Dean cast a quick look around the cavernous room. There were a few people lingering in corners and doorways, happily chatting, paying no mind at all to the two men sitting shoulder to shoulder.

"Not here." He stood, getting away from Cas' halting, hesitant hands. "Come on, let's go. We'll talk about it in the car." He had no problem at all telling Cas what happened, but he wasn't about to do it with so many witnesses.

Cas reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him from walking away, but jerked back as if the contact had burned. His gaze narrowed, switching in an instant from that wild panic to something far more focused and caustic. "You cannot be here."

Dean reflexively touched the spot where Cas had grabbed him, for some reason feeling very much like a scolded child. "What?"

"This is hallowed ground." Cas stood now too and the air around them stirred like before a lightning storm, prickling with so much electricity. "You cannot be here."

"Cas, calm down- let's take it outside." People were looking at them now; curiosity mixed with annoyance at the irreverence and raised voices.

"Don't speak to me with his words." The Angel had squared his shoulders, managing to make himself look bigger somehow. "Get out of Dean and get out of this church."

"Get out of-?" Dean took another step back. "The fuck, Cas?" He winced and lowered his voice, not liking how it echoed. "It's me- just me. No one else in here, I promise."

"You do not have permission to call me Cas."

"Outside. Now." Dean left the church walking backwards, it was awkward as hell, and he almost knocked down a small old woman in a large white hat, but he needed to keep an eye on Cas to make sure he was coming too. Not _needed_, actually. The Angel was following him like a furious storm cloud, looking as if there were nothing in all of heaven or hell that could have stolen his attention at that moment. The tall church windows had started to rattle, almost like a large truck was passing on the road or the preemptive gales of an oncoming typhoon had suddenly risen. All Dean could think about was the first night he had met the Angel and when the man had spoke it had managed to shatter the windshield of Sam's car.

Cas followed him all the way to the property line, forcing him back until his boots scuffed on the black asphalt.

"Just calm down." He tried his most reasonable voice. "It's fine. I'm me."

"I said get out of him." Cas' voice was new now, something darker and deeper, with the wrath of heaven in his lungs.

"Listen to me, Cas. I'm the only one in here. Me, Dean,"

"Don't lie to me. I know it's you in there. I can feel your filth on him." He bore his teeth in a way that was very far from any human expression that Dean had seen. "I may not be as strong as I once was, but I am stronger than when last we met and I will find a way to cast you out."

And strangely those words felt a lot more threatening than the gun that had been leveled at him only an hour ago. Dean fumbled for the flask he kept in his jacket pocket, taking out the beaten, silver canister and holding it high.

"Holy water, Cas." He opened the flask, very aware that they were in a small town, surrounded by church goers. "I'm not possessed." He growled out, trying to keep his words low, hoping that no one could hear him but the Angel, because Dean did not need a bunch a religious nuts gathering pitchforks and torches or whatever normal people did when faced with possessed men.

The mouthful of holy water went down without a hitch and for some reason that sort of surprised Dean. The way Cas was looking at him, so much anger and certainty, he almost expected it to burn. "See? It's alright."

Cas had stopped walking, cocking his head to one side but not losing an ounce of that righteous anger. "I will only give you one more chance to get out of him."

"Christ, Cas- I'm not possessed." He wanted to yell it, but it came out in a sort of pained hiss instead.

The distance between them vanished as the Angel of the Lord suddenly rushed forward, crowding Dean like he had never once heard of personal space. He pressed one hand to Dean's forehead, the other to his shoulder and pushed him back a few more steps until they crashed roughly into a parked car. Now, Cas was strong, stronger than most people Dean had met, but even still he forced the hunter backwards without the slightest sign of effort. The Angel's hands were hot where they gripped him, not in a way that burned or anything dramatic like that, just fever hot, sweaty and unpleasant.

"If you force me to hurt him, I will find a way to destroy you." Cas' words slid over him, his breath just as hot as his hands. "I swear I will."

More often than he would like, Dean found himself at a loss for anything to say when confronted by Cas. Dean had almost perfect aim, what many would consider devastatingly good looks and a smart mouth that never knew when to quit. Those were the glorious attributes he had been born with, and very rarely did those inherent skills fail him. But since the night he met Cas, it seemed that all his wise ass remarks had fled and he was left grasping for words. This was indisputably one of those times.

Dean knew without a doubt that he wasn't possessed, however the idea that Cas would defend him so vehemently if he was- well it was nice… in an unexpected, might need to get a restraining order, maybe this is getting a little too serious, sort of way. But those aren't the sorts of things you just say to a guy giving off that level of crazy.

"Cas, I told you-"

"Don't lie to me." The Angel shook him slightly, fingers digging in painfully as he throttled the hunter. "I can smell you on him."

"Look, I went to go see a man named Kaleb." He whispered roughly. "He was dead when I go there. I did a quick salt and burn, I touched things while I was there- maybe that's what you're smelling." There had been more than your average share of violence in that house. It was possible it had somehow rubbed off on Dean. Not in a way that was perceptible to him, but perhaps to a creature more angelic and pure, that sort of bad juju might leave a trace.

"Is everything alright, boys?" A man had edged close to them, emerging into the edge of Dean's line of sight. He wore a suit and he must have been pushing fifty by the looks of his sun worn face and salt and pepper hair with matching moustache. But this was ranch country, and even if the man was old, he was solid, all weathered muscle and leathered skin. He looked like he was ready to step in and sort these boys out if he needed to.

"Everything's dandy." Dean growled, struggling against the hand pressing his forehead back. "He just gets a little handsy sometimes." He licked his lips, lowering his voice again until almost no sound at all managed to escape. "Let me up, Cas."

"Don't call me that. He's the only one allowed to call me that. Now get out."

"I'm he- him- I'm me. It's just me."

But Cas wasn't listening anymore, it was possible that he had never started. He was speaking in that weirdo language that Dean had heard come out of Gabriel. Not the thunderous, earsplitting version, but the softer rolling one that was eight kinds of unnatural sounding. It was rough and gentle, gorgeous and horrifying. He didn't need to know what the words meant. Dean understood the canter, the emotion behind them.

It was an exorcism.

Cas was trying to exorcise him.

The rolling sounds the Angel made were so painfully beautiful that Dean felt his throat clenching tight and his was threatening to pound its way free if his chest. God damned tears were stinging his eyes. It was not a particularly masculine moment, but luckily it was also short lived. Apparently holy exorcisms were faster to run through than the traditional Latin ones that Dean used. The twisting, beating words died and Cas' eyes narrowed expectantly, his breaths anxious and fast.

It was the holy water all over again. Dean had half expected something exciting to come spilling out of him and it was almost disappointing when abso-fucking-lutly nothing happened.

Something broke, it folded, it collapsed and came apart.

The fire went out of Castiel like it had been doused in a flood. The man practically went limp where he stood, sagging against Dean.

"Cas?" Dean gripped him by his shoulders, trying to straighten him. He managed to lift the Angel up enough to see how pale his face had become. "Hey, you alright?"

"What have you done, Dean?"

"I told you. I was in a bad place and I-"

"I know his smell. He found you. I-I should have been …with …you." Cas' head lolled back, turning skyward and his skin was as white as the clouds reflected in his eyes. He went ragdoll limp, completely unconscious and would have been sprawled out in the grass if it weren't for Dean.

People were crowding them now.

People tended to do that when they saw someone faint, which was more annoying than helpful in his line of work.

"Is he alright?"

"What happened?"

"Does anyone know CPR?"

Questions flew through the air and Dean did his best to block them out. "He's fine." He heard himself repeating the lie over and over again. He honestly had no good reason to believe that the Angel was anywhere close to fine, but a man had to have hope.

"It's just low blood sugar." Which was a much larger lie, but it was better than saying that the sleeping man was an ex-Angel who had probably used up whatever Grace he had left from a jumpstart two days back when Dean had let him touch his soul. Things like that never went over well.

He ended up with unwanted help as he carried Cas back into the church, laying him on a pew. Some well meaning old lady insisted that Dean wake the Angel enough to get a piece of butterscotch candy in him, the whole time explaining that she always kept a handful of them in her purse for just such occasions. It took a bit of coaxing, but they got him lucid enough to get the sliver of amber candy in his mouth without him choking on it.

Even though Dean doubted that the rapidly supplied Werther's Original had any hand it, a short while later Cas' eyes fluttered open, though they looked hoary, their normal intensity and brightness spent. The flock of little, old women seemed relieved by his stirring, one of them demanding that Castiel drink a little paper cup full of water (which he did without question, though his hands shook enough that the movement was difficult), while the other silver haired ladies busied themselves with tittering over how sweet Dean was, taking such good care of his friend. _Such a nice young man. And handsome too. And wouldn't he be just perfect for your granddaughter, Muriel?_

"Thanks, ladies." Dean said loud enough to cut through their buzzing chatter. He shot them an award winning smile which sent half of them giggling (the other half must have had cataracts or something else and just couldn't see him well enough to appreciate it). "We appreciate all your help." He managed to take the slightly crumpled cup from Cas' hands. "But we've got to get going."

The Angel was unsteady on his feet, like a drunk stumbling from a bar- all disjointed movements and chaotic steps. Dean got an arm around his poor friend and helped him out of the church. They walked to the car side by side, the whole while Cas making weak noises like he wanted to talk but could not summon the words. Dean settled him into the passenger seat, crouching down at his side, holding onto the door for balance.

"Hey, you gunna be alright?" He was looking up at the Angel, trying to make eye contact and failing miserably. "Dude, I'm down here." Cas pointedly looked elsewhere and it was almost funny. "Are we ok? I mean, you know I'm me now, right? Just me?"

He made a soft noise that could be mistaken for an affirmative.

"I'm not possessed."

Cas only repeated that noise, it rapidly losing any sort of meaning that it might have had.

"You still in there?" He paused but didn't even get that confirmatory sigh. "Earth to Cas. Hey… Want me to call your brother?"

There was an injured sigh followed by a full body shudder that looked positively painful.

"His plane should have landed by now. I can call him." It wasn't a threat. If there was any chance that the smaller Angel could explain what was going on and somehow fix it, Dean would make that call in a hot second.

That's when he noticed the bit of blood on the corner of Cas' mouth, that oddly too dark color that was so easy to identify.

"Fucking- Cas." Dean was on his feet, scampering to the driver's side. Forget Gabriel. Whatever help he might have been able to give was on a more long term basis and Cas needed help now. Dean was half way to the little white hospital off of the main street before Cas clumsily grabbed his sleeve.

"Fine." He breathed out the word in his rough voice.

Dean almost slammed the breaks, shooting a high-strung look at the man beside him. "You're not fine, you're flopping around like a God damned Muppet and bleeding out your face."

"I bit my cheek."

And that was somehow funny enough that Dean choked out a laugh. "Bit your- Dude, you scared the shit out of me."

"It was not my intent." He groaned, seeming to still be struggling to get the thoughts past his lips. "I'm not feeling well."

"You're kidding." The words came to be more sarcastic than he intended as he pulled over onto the side of the road in a haphazard semblance of parallel parking.

"I do not think I am capable, but I can try if you wish."

"No. It's- it's fine." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Does this mean we're ok?"

"I can still smell him on you," it came out as a moaning sigh, but not the pleasant sort. "Like a cancer." He spat out the last word.

"Him who?"

Cas finally made some very unpleasant eye contact, still as pale as snow drift. "I cannot and _will_ not speak his name."

"Oh, that's- that's helpful." He said thickly. "Are you at least going to take a break from chasing me around with your booming voice and trying to cast the demons out?"

"I assessed the situation poorly. I'm sorry if I frightened you." He legitimately wheezed at the end of that.

"Dude, I wasn't afraid."

He let his eyes close, his face pinched like he was in pain. "You said I scared the shit out of you… which I am assuming was meant as a metaphor and not to be taken literally."

Dean let his head thud against the steering wheel and he knew that it was likely that he had earned himself an interesting burse just below his hairline. "You're killing me… and I don't mean that literally."

"What did you do when you left me at the church, Dean?" Cas spoke with uncertainty – almost like a child, scared of the response.

He lifted his head slowly and told him what happened at Kaleb's- told about Andy pulling a gun on him and her handing over her father's journals- though he pointedly left out any description of her flawless breasts. Even though Cas didn't seem like the jealous sort, there was really no need to test that theory. He also avoided telling the Angel precisely why they had crossed two state lines for a stack of journals, other than the simple excuse that Sam had asked him to.

"Ghouls?" Cas' eyes couldn't be bothered to open and perhaps that was something that Dean should worry about.

"Yeah." He agreed softly.

"Did you actually see their remains?"

"There wasn't enough left to fill an Easter basket." And wasn't that a charming mental image that Dean immediately regretted forming.

"A mere child reduced two ghouls to nothing more than pieces?" His gruff voice was dragging with the weight of his skepticism.

"She wasn't _just_ a child, Cas." The insinuation was insulting. "Her Dad was a hunter."

"As the child of a hunter yourself, at her age would you have been able to destroy two monsters to the point that you could no longer distinguish them from the remains of three adults? Was there really so little left?"

"What are you trying to say, Cas?" Dean was bristling. He didn't want to be defensive, but there were lots of things he had no control over and there was no point in fighting all of them. He had learned years ago when to pick his battles.

"I am saying that you don't smell like ghouls."

Lunch time had not even rolled around yet and already things had settled somewhere around rock bottom. It didn't bode well for the long term forecast.

"Dude, I saw the teeth marks on her." The timber of his voice had risen without his permission. "If you're saying she pulled a fast one on me, you're wrong. Something ate her family- and something tried to eat her."

"Your story fails to explain the smell." As he spoke that little line of blood grew longer, reaching his chin.

"The house just reeked of corpses, and I washed it off. Yeah, it was nasty as hell, but it's nothing new. What smell are you talking about?"

"_His_ smell."

"God, not again." He grimaced. "Who the fuck do you keep talking about, you cryptic bastard?"

Cas opened his mouth, but instead of speaking he lurched forward, curling around himself and dry heaving, sounding like something in him had broken.

"Whoa- hey, no!" Dean was grateful that he had somehow neglected to put on his seatbelt for once. He rolled from the car and went running around to the side, dodging a passing Toyota and throwing wide Cas' door. He helped the Angel lean out over the road, because Bobby would throw a shit fit if they got puke in one of his cars. There was another bout of heaving followed by a whimper, but that pitiful sound was the only thing that actually managed to come out of him.

Dean kept rubbing Cas' shoulder after the spell had passed, making small, concentric circles that were meant to be comforting. He hoped they were comforting, but this was the first time he had ever attempted something like this. Years ago when Sam had endeavored to use whisky as an entrance to manhood and ended up blackout-sick on the floor of their motel room, Dean had done little more than laugh at him. It felt infinitely better to be half holding Cas against his shoulder while the man trembled and made rough, tearing sounds in the back of his throat.

"Hey, you're gunna' be ok. Just breathe."

"S-stop asking me." The words were torn from his lungs on the heels of another desolate whimper. "I'm not-" and Dean could see the tracks of very legitimate tears staining Cas' very pale cheeks. "I can't-"

"I get it." He shushed the Angel, suddenly realizing that when Cas said that he couldn't talk about what was going on- all those times that he had awkwardly waltzed away from Dean's questions- he wasn't being cagey or ambiguous. He really, _physically_, couldn't talk about it.

"I get it." Dean repeated, softer this time, pressing his lips to Cas' temple, feeling the heat of a fever hammering off of him. "We won't talk about it." He kissed Cas' hair, tasting sweat. "Come on, I'm too fucking tired to make it back to Bobby's and you're falling apart."

Blue eyes forced themselves open, looking inquiringly at Dean as if he were suddenly speaking Farsi.

"Motel." He said slowly. "Columbus." He forced a grin that was more grimace than geniality. "They've got beds and showers- if we're lucky."

"Showers?" Cas whispered like a failing inquisition.

"Hot ones." Dean grinned.

And the suggestive eyebrow waggle was completely wasted on the half cognizant Angel. He only nodded in an unhinged sort of way, pulling himself from the cradle of Dean's arms and settling back in his seat.

They didn't even need to go as far as Columbus. Dean found a place just on the edge of town called Fiddler Creek Cabins. The room was cheap, had two twin beds and running water, basically it was the Promised Land. Cas was out like a light, hardly waking enough to get his legs beneath him and Dean had to practically drag the sleeping Angel to their room, rolling him onto the bed with the denim quilt, saving the calico one for himself.

The shower was small and steamy and Dean scrubbed of at least two layer of skin in an attempt to remove whatever stink that clung to him in ways only an Angel seemed capable of noticing. He redressed into a pair of clean jeans that he had thought to toss in his duffle- hoping that it would be enough for Cas to get over his sacrosanct protector act.

He wanted to get a few hours of sleep. Sioux Falls was about a ten hour drive and he deserved at least a brief nap to recharge. He'd earned as much, he'd worked his ass of this morning. However, Dean found himself more than unusually awake.

Something was wrong with Castiel- something big and bad enough to make him physically ill if he tried to talk about it. Dean hadn't seen anything quite like that in a long time- if ever- but he was having a hard time remembering things. Hundreds of old hunts and a lifetime of jumbled lore were rioting through his mind in utter chaos and it was impossible to concentrate on the big picture when he was being bombarded by each singular moment.

Sam would know what to do. Sam with his stupid laptop would just roll his eyes at his brother, pull his best bitch-face and do his internet voodoo that he did so well. He would know what sort of thing had gotten into Cas in such a bad way- and they could all just move on with their damn lives. But Sam wasn't here, and despite Dean's cell phone laying out on the little side table beneath the window, he knew he couldn't just ring him up and ask for help.

Oh, Sam would do it alright if asked. He was just as ready to help Dean at the drop of a hat as Dean was to help him.

But it was a simple matter of pride that kept Dean Winchester from reaching for his phone.

He was an adult. He had to at least make an attempt at helping himself and his… boyfriend before calling the cavalry.

There was a new thought dancing through his mind, this one far more distracting than it should be.

_Was_ Cas his boyfriend?

It was a legitimate question- albeit one that made him feel like a sixteen year old girl. Dean hadn't actually dated anyone in… well, in a long time. Singular nights didn't count and he honestly couldn't remember the last stable relationship that he had been in. And that should have been hint enough that maybe Dean wasn't made for this sort of thing.

But that was a whole separate bag of cats.

One problem at a time.

He ducked back out to the car, pulling Kaleb's journals from the back seat and settling onto his bed. Maybe there would be some answers hidden in their depths- or maybe all that reading would just put Dean to sleep. It was a win-win scenario and he could handle those sorts of odds.

As it turned out, Kaleb had been even more anal about his note keeping than John. Apparently he had also been a paranoid son a bitch and felt that using any normal English linguistics system would have made it too easy to read if his notes ever fell into the wrong hands.

Dean stared woefully at the ciphers and it made his brain hurt.

Most of the marks didn't even look like real letters. He groaned in disgust and tossed the journals into his duffle. Problems for later, because, yeah- he needed one more thing to toss onto that pile.

Dean had made his attempt; simple and short lived as it was. He grabbed his pone and it rang through to Sam's voice mail.

"Sammy, stop playing with your dolls and give me a call back. I've got a problem out here." He tried to make sure not to let too much urgency bleed into those words. He needed to talk to his kid brother, but he didn't want to really freak him out by leaving a panicky message either. The phone was flipped closed and Dean rolled over, burying his face in the overly fluffy pillow, attempting to smother himself into unconsciousness.

Sweet, dark, dreamless unconsciousness.

Sleep.

That's what he needed.

That's what he couldn't find.

He ended up alternately watching an episode of _Doctor Sexy, M.D._ on the small TV in the corner, and gazing wistfully at the man sleeping restlessly in the other bed.

The things that Gabe needed to know about his little brother felt connected to whatever had set Cas off back in the church. Dean had no proof, mind you, just a gut feeling- and he generally trusted those, they almost never left him down. There was no mystery for him lurking in this mess. It was all a jumble of why Cas fell from heaven, why he was being chased by Fallen Angels, why he thought that Dean was possessed, with a healthy dash of apocalyptic rumors of war- a war that was none of Dean's business, which he wanted nothing more than to avoid like a plague.

On top of all that, there was the niggling memory of Cas holding him down in the back of the Impala, dispassionately mentioning that those Denariun/former Angels weren't just after Cas' squirrely little self, but apparently they had been gunning for Dean as well… for at least a year. It wasn't a notion that he wanted to entertain.

A hunter being hunted was about as far from a good day as anyone in this line of business got.

He could just say 'fuck all' and walk away. Away from this very distant war… away from Cas. Dean could go right back to hunting like none of this had ever happened. He could do his best to forget.

He had visions of wayside bars, drinking his weight in gasoline masquerading as booze, doing his upmost to rid himself of the very solid memories of eyes more blue than anything ever meant to exist in this world- of warm hands- rough stubble- of a painfully awkward laugh than was far more infectious than it had any right to be.

Sure… he could just leave all that without a single moment's hesitation. Turn his back on this strangely dependant Angel (because splitting from his codependent brother years before had ended so well for everyone- an encore would be just amazing right about now) and just resume his normal fucked up life- praying (if he actually put any weight in that sort of thing) that whatever war everyone was all up in arms about, somehow never managed to catch up with him… or anyone he cared about.

It was such a startlingly piss poor solution that it sent giddy laughter scrambling up his throat and his chest hurt from holding it back.

He knew he would stay.

It had never really been an option otherwise.

It was hardwired into him like the color of his eyes, and his tolerance for pain and the limit of how fast he could run.

Dean found his footing just long enough to move from his bed to Cas'.

Now, a twin bed isn't considered roomy to anyone over the age of five or over the height of roughly one meter, but right now that wasn't important. Dean wrapped himself around the restlessly sleeping Angel, sliding half under him and offering up his chest as a pillow. It worked like a panacea, Cas' fitful movements slowed and that little wrinkle between his eyes smoothed out as he settled into a deeper sleep atop Dean.

It was warmer here, tucked up beside his Angel and Dean finally felt sleep creeping up on him, stealing away his sordid thoughts like a proverbial thief in the night. He didn't know how yet, but he would find a way to help Cas, a way that didn't involve directly asking- because as was evident from the incident back in the car- that wasn't going to fly.

But the how didn't matter as much as it could, as much as it should. He had Kaleb's journals, a wizkid of a little brother who had never really failed at anything in his life and a stubborn streak wider than the damned Mississippi River. Where there's a will there's a way, and all that shit.

He curled slightly, kissing the Angel's head for the second time that day and as he closed his eyes he wondered why it wasn't something that he did more often.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN**: I know that I promised kissing in this chapter, but at some point I also noticed that this chapter had breached 30pages. I was slightly intimidated and disappointed in my apparent lack of a proper stopping point or sense of pacing. I can't bring myself to send out a chapter that long. Aint nobody got time for that.

So, I ended up breaking the monster chapter into 3 easier to digest, more reasonably sized chapters. As such, you will have to wait until chapter 15 for the smoochies. But they are there, I promise. I know that's why you're here anyways, right?

soon.

* * *

When Dean woke the light of the sun had fallen from the western sky and Sam's dark shadow loomed over him. Neither were singularly unique events. Dean had seen thousands of nights and Dean could have identified his brother's silhouette in a lineup- any day or night, piss drunk or stone cold sober. He had mapped the plains of Sam's body since youth in the way that only a possessive and obsessive older brother could. And maybe that was a little strange in itself, but it didn't hold a candle to the fact that as the wheels in Dean's mind got slowly turning he _realized_ that it was Sam standing over his bed- _now_-tonight- here- in Montana- with Cas curled around him, his dark hair tickling under Dean's very wide eyes.

"Dean?" And Sam's voice had a very specific lit to it- a thread of panic that meant this was not the first time he had invoked that name and Dean got the distinct impression that Sam had been trying to wake him for some time now.

"Sammy?" Dean tried to detach the sleeping Angel from his side, but at some point Dean had become as good at bedbound escapes as a teddy bear and there was no hope in hiding the fact that they were indeed, very actually… _cuddling_. Cas' arm tightened slightly and his breath grew warmer as he rutted his face deeper into the crook of Dean's neck and shoulder.

"Dude." And his voice wasn't too slurred with sleep, so at least he had that still going for him. "What're you doin' here?"

"You called me- said there was a problem…" Sam sank to the unoccupied bed; his brows knitted tight, casting dark shadows over his eyes in the wan glow from the little overhead light that he must have flicked on when he entered the room. "I've been trying to get hold of you for two days."

Dean twisted as much as he was allowed while in the angelic death grip, and groaned. The little bedside clock's cheery red numbers said that it couldn't have been more than eight hours since he left a message on Sam's voicemail.

"Calm your tits. I called you just after lunch." His stomach rumbled at the mention of the missed meal. "How'd you get out here so fast? You take a plane or something?" His mouth was working slowly as his brain struggled in vain to catch up. Naps had a way of messing up anyone's sleep schedule, but Dean (never having anything closely resembling a circadian rhythm) had never worried much about it. Even still, he couldn't remember the last time he felt this bone tired.

"You called me on Sunday, Dean." There was a bit of hysteria laced into those words, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to yell or laugh about it. "It's Tuesday." Sam winced, like having to say such a thing was equivalent to a sharp slap across the face. "Gabe and I- I spent all day yesterday and today looking for you guys. Kaleb's house had been burned down and there were remains… I thought- God damn it, Dean. I didn't know what I thought." He ran those big hands of his through his hair and just breathed.

Dean made a second attempt to escape the viselike grip and all it got him was a grumble and a light prickle of stubble, followed by teeth, grazing the thin skin over his carotid artery – which in turn made his ears grow hot in an awkward wave of embarrassment that he knew would not lost on Sam, but luckily, he was too upset right now to point out that his big brother was blushing.

"Fuck." Sam, who did not usually swear except for special occasions, let out a terse oath and pressed the heel of one hand to his temple. "You just about gave me a heart attack and here you are _fu-_" he caught his breath and tried again. "There's not a scratch on you and you're just sleeping here with Castiel."

"Hey," Dean barked surprisingly loud in the little room. "We're _not_ sleeping together."

Sam just gave that bitch face he did so well and gestured at the two men twined together on the bed.

"Sam- we're just sleeping together- not _sleeping _together."

"What?" Sam was making faces, eyebrows low and nose wrinkled slightly.

"Never mind." Dean finally managed to free himself enough to sit up, unceremoniously dropping Cas from his chest with a cheerful squeak of bedsprings. Dean wasn't exactly hiding anything, he would tell Sam about whatever was going on- whatever there was between himself and the Angel- just as soon as Dean knew what that thing was exactly. But as of right now all of what they had consisted of a few messy kisses and a two gallon bucket filled with about three gallons worth of tumultuous feelings that begged to not be defined.

It was around then that Dean realized he had never bothered to put on a shirt after his shower- or boots for that matter, but he was, none the less, looking at his muddy steel toed boots half hanging from his feet with their laces loose and tangled, and his jacket unzipped over the vigilant black marker lines that danced over his chest. His thumbnail clicked anxiously against his ring he bit the inside of his cheek.

"It's Tuesday?" He asked slowly.

"Yes, Dean." And Sam sagged like a puppet with his strings cut. "What the hell happened?"

"I-I don't know."

"Hello, Samuel." Cas sounded like he had been gargling with broken glass and he struggled to sit up behind Dean.

"It's just Sam." Sam replied with a tense expression- like somehow that was important right now. "Are you two alright?"

"I cannot speak for Dean, but I feel better… Sam." The Angel said carefully, tasting the name and nodding when he seemed to find it to his liking. How he could sit there being cordial was beyond Dean's understanding right then.

"Better? _I_ don't feel _better_. What the hell do you mean it's _Tuesday_?"

"What happened out here?" Sam was all hunched and worried, his shoulders smooth and arched as he leaned closer to the two men pressed together on the very small bed.

Dean was sending accusatory glares at the boots that he knew he had not put on himself. "I don't know. I went to Kaleb's- found him dead and did a salt n' burn just to make sure he stayed down." He rubbed the inside of a wrist over his mouth. "Got his journals from his daughter, picked Cas up from church and we decided to rest a bit before making the drive back to Bobby's… and it was Sunday." He added firmly, because that honestly seemed the most important point to make in all this.

"You seem to have forgotten about the time when I thought you were possessed by an Archangel and I tried to save you." Cas said so simply that it actually made Dean laugh, earning him a strange look and the Angel continued in a strained, yet unfathomably patient voice. "The exorcism was more than I should have attempted in my current state."

Sam just looked between the two of them like they were spewing drunken confessions and not a word of it made a lick of sense. Dean just shrugged, trying not to be phased by the realization that Cas hadn't just thought he was 'normal' possessed (which was what Dean had assumed from the righteous outburst on Sunday), but instead Cas had suspected something far more exciting. Possessed by demons and upsetting your pet Angel was one thing, but possessed by an Archangel? Well, John hadn't exactly spent a lot of time teaching his sons to deal with that sort of contingency.

Dean honestly had no idea if the anti-possession design tattooed into his flesh would protect against anything other than demons and that made fear clench like a fist, low in his stomach. He wanted to reach behind him and grab hold of Cas, to find something solid in his suddenly tipping world, but that ever present pride kept his hands restlessly fidgeting against his own legs.

It was in the midst of that prickly quiet that Gabriel let himself into the already crowded little motel room. "Here you all are. Gee, Samsquatch you could have told me they were still alive and-" his smile faltered, withering on the edges like he tasted something bitter. "And I wouldn't have hurried over so fast." He was watching Dean in an unsettling way, his eyes tight and angry, but he looked to be struggling to try and keep up a neutral smile. "I guess it's a good thing that I did."

"Oh, come on. Not you too." Dean rolled his eyes, recognizing the look for what it was. Cas had given the very same one to Dean in the church yard and it was roughly the equivalent of pointing and dramatically saying _You_. "I showered- I smell awesome."

"What?" Sam laughed out uncomfortably at the same time as Cas said in his wrecked voice "It's not what it looks like, Gabriel."

The littlest Angel laughed but it was almost completely devoid of any measure of humor. "Oh, boy. I'd love to hear you try and explain this one." His long fingered hands were clenched at his sides and Dean recognized that look too- the little man readying himself for a fight. "I leave you guys alone for three days and you let your big brother in to wear your boyfriend's meat suit. What happened, Cassy? Did he just ask you _really_ nice to take Dean out for a test drive?"

Castiel made a sharp sound behind Dean's back. "He didn't ask me. I'm not even sure where Dean ran into him. I attended mass and when Dean got back he-"

"When he got _back_?" Gabriel half spun in a little circle, arms wide and graceless. "Sweet baby J. You had one job, Cassy."

"I can't be everywhere at once. And even if I had been with Dean when it happened there is very little I could have done." Castiel was restless against Dean's back, spitting out his words, the tension radiating off of him in a very tangible way and the hunter had just about enough of whatever the hell this was. "But he's clean. I preformed the exorcism myself, and it was a waste of Grace. There was no one to cast out."

"Oh, well- why didn't you say so?" Gabe planted himself down beside Sam recklessly. "Cassy did the exorcism himself, Sam. So it's fine now." He was wearing a bitch-face of his own and maybe was laying the sarcasm on a little thicker than was necessary.

"He _is_ fine now." Cas was a wall of heat against Dean's back, pressing closer until the little jolting moment when they actually brushed against each other and neither shied away from the contact. "Whatever they needed Dean for has passed."

"Time out just a damn second." Dean made a big T with his hands, holding them up so everyone could see. "I was never possessed. Let's just get that straight."

Gabriel turned his attention back to Dean, his nostrils flaring slightly. "_You_ get away from my Cassy. I don't know who's in there, but I'll crack your skull just the same."

"Gabe?" Sam was getting up off the bed, looking at his older brother apprehensively, suddenly unsure of the man he had known since birth.

Currently possessed, or formally- those were the cards on the table at this point. No one seemed interested in Dean's assurance that he hadn't even so much high-fived an Archangel in the past few days. Apparently he reeked of the sucker, and who was Dean to argue? It was a question that sort of answered itself.

"Fucking- fuck." Dean struggled off his own bed, feeling only distantly related to his extremities, mistrusting his feet and hands. He felt strangely numb, the few days worth of sleep had settled into his bones, making him movements sluggish and imprecise. "I'm me! I don't know what your _magical_ Angel noses keep sniffing- but sniff off."

Gabriel squared his narrow shoulders, standing in that small space between the beds, his head barely high enough to look Dean in the eyes. "I know you, we grew up together. Do you really think you can just hide out in there?" His cocky little smirk flickered to life. "You may talk like a Winchester- but I'll bet you won't bleed like one."

And that's about when Sam's unnaturally long arms came down around his very small boyfriend and pulled him away, enveloping him in a very secure hold. "No."

"Sammy," Gabriel started in an even tone, like explaining something to a child. "My big brother is wearing your brother like a prom dress and you're just gunna'-"

"That's Dean." Sam's voice had gone hard, acidic and so very certain.

"You can't know that." Gabe insisted.

Sam's lip curled up, a junkyard dog look that fit oddly on his face. "I know my brother."

And maybe that wasn't wholly true. Couldn't be as true as Sam made it sound. How well can you really know someone? Even your own brother could be a stranger in the right situation.

Dean remembered when Meg had possessed Sam for a few days and somehow not a single alarm bell had gone off to warn him. And Dean _knew_ Sam- knew him almost better than he knew himself.

Could he be possessed?

He sure as hell didn't _feel_ possessed.

His thoughts were his own- his anger was a rational and very familiar sensation. He was _just_ Dean Winchester. He didn't have anyone hiding inside of him. That really seemed like the kind of thing that couldn't slip by unnoticed for any length of time.

And in the face of all those coherent arguments, despite his rational line of thought, there did remain the problem of his boots, jacket and two missing days…

But Cas had plastered him to a car outside the church and exorcised him right and proper. No hidden Archangel had come spilling out. No one had bristled or even stirred at those commanding words.

No.

Dean shook himself.

This whole thing was just fucking stupid.

He held his arms out in a mock surrender, leaning towards Gabriel, his open jacket rustling against his bare sides. "I know I'm me. Do whatever you need to, shortstack."

"Dean?" Sam frowned, obviously not liking that offer.

"Let go of him and let's settle this so we can all move on with our damn lives." The confidence in his words was all a front. It was all bravado and smarm, Dean was actually not at all sure about this- but hey, when had that ever stopped him?

"Don't hurt him." Sam whispered as he let go of his boyfriend's shoulders and took a step back.

It injured something very important in Dean to see his baby brother's hand flick behind his back, where Dean knew there must be a gun. Apparently Sammy wasn't quite sure about this anymore, and that hit a little below the belt.

Gabe was all loose smiles and a bit of a swagger to his step as he closed the distance. "Just relax, Deano, it'll make it easier."

"Get on with it, you feathery little freak."

"Oh, I really hope it's you in there." He said through gritted teeth, almost conversationally, and really? Dean didn't know if it was directed at him or not.

The Angel's hands were warm on Dean's face, a little rough and smelling of maple syrup and blackberry jam. Gabriel hissed softly, "my, my- but you have been a busy boy." He dug his digits into Dean's hair, trapping him in place. "I knew you would be coming around eventually, Michael. I can smell you on him like too much AXE body spray- but Anduriel too? Talk about poisoning the waterhole." He was whispering, just a soft stream of words meant only for the two of them.

He pulled Dean closer and for a frightful second, the hunter was horrified that he was about to be kissed. But, the Angel stopped short and almost _sang_ that short and beautiful exorcism, his breath ghosting over Dean's jaw and neck. It had been far more intimidating when Cas had been the one holding him in place- growling out the words, something very akin to rage on his pale face. It had also been far preferable than being manhandled by Gabe. Dean was sure he would come away from this with sticky, syrupy fingerprints all over his face and in his hair.

Nothing new happened, though everyone was on pins and needles as if they were expecting something cataclysmic. Gabriel finished, holding his breath and looking very seriously into Dean's eyes from far too close.

"That's enough." Cas pushed them apart, shoving his older brother back and away from Dean. "I told you, there is no one to cast out."

Gabriel was remarkably quiet for a spell, taking in the fact that Cas was now standing between them, rumpled and defensive, challenging with his very presence.

"You're right."Gabriel yielded suddenly, and that damnable smirk came back in full force. "Silly me- jumping to conclusions like that." A grin flashed- all teeth and no truth. "We're good, right Deano? Still best palls?"

Dean would have answered, he had a sharp remark on the tip of his tongue, but Cas turned to him, worry painted plainly over his face. His hands came up, running over Dean's cheeks, down the sides of his neck, then chest, ghosting over his stomach and then back up to run through the dance once more. "Are you alright?"

Cas was checking for damage- Dean was _almost_ sure that was what Cas was doing. But as a thumb ran along his lower lip, far too slow and too intimate than the situation warranted, he started to feel doubt. Not doubt in the normal way that people felt such things. It manifested in more of a heart racing, pants are a too tight, sort of way. He batted those worried hands away.

"I'm fine." Which was a lie, but not for the normal reasons.

Sam was watching him oddly, a little confused twist to the corners of his mouth, like he was stuck on a particularly difficult problem but was still enjoying himself.

"You don't smell fine." Gabriel stage whispered like it was some kind of joke. He looked a bit pale, eyes a little dark, his hands belaying the finest tremor. He was hiding it well, but what he had just done to Dean had cost more than a little oomph.

"Seriously, I can go to the store and get some bleach if you think it'll help- but I don't smell a damn thing."

"Lucky." He tossed himself back onto one of the beds, pulling a bag of skittles from a pocket and tearing the package open with his teeth, pouring a colorful waterfall of candy into his mouth.

"Don't you two need to get back home?" He looked at Sam a little helplessly. "Don't you have work or something?"

"Dean, you sort of lost a few days in there, doesn't that worry you?" Sam sounded as immovable as he looked, a monolith of worry in the center of the room.

"Not as much as it should, I mean, come on. I've lost plenty of days before, Sammy." He tried to joke, to lighten the tight feeling in his chest. It honestly freaked him out on a fairly exclusive level that he had been previously unacquainted with, but there was no way that he was going to let it show. "Remember that time we hopped the border and spent like a week in Tijuana?" He grinned, because it was expected of him. "Because I sure don't, not more than bits and pieces at least."

"This is a bit different than going off on a bender for a few days," said Sam Winchester- the voice of reason.

"Well, I'll figure it out." He went over to his duffle, pulling out a shirt and swapping it for the jacket. He started to dig for Kaleb's journals, sure that he had left them on the top of the pile, and knowing that if he could give Sam something else to focus on that he could get the man off his back long enough to think.

But there wasn't much more than a sawed off shotgun, toothbrush and change of clothes in the old canvas bag. With a frown he just dumped it out on the floor, the few contents falling with an apologetic noise onto the carpet. He sat back on his heels and just looked blankly at the mess he had made.

"Sammy, how'd you find me here?"

"Recognized the car Bobby leant you." He was watching Dean carefully. "I told the guy at the front desk that you were passing through on your way to a family reunion in Columbus and that I was your cousin, recognized your car and wanted to surprise you. He told me which room you were in, said you'd paid for a week and hadn't been out more than once or twice since you checked in." He took a step closer. "What are you looking for, Dean?"

"He didn't mention me having any visitors or anything?" Dean was biting at the inside of his lip hard enough that he tasted blood. He had only paid for one night; he knew he had only paid for one night, not one week and he was sure he hadn't left _only_ 'once or twice'.

"No, he didn't mention any visitors. Dean, what-"

"The journals are gone."

"Journals?" Sam said the word like it was new to him and took a little step back as Dean stood.

"The ones you sent me out here for. Kaleb's journals, the ones his daughter gave me. I put them in my bag and they're gone." He ran a hand through his hair and was almost positive he felt a little stickiness that he would be blaming wholly on Gabriel. "Son of a bitch. Stay here a second." He left the room, tromping around to the check-in office, his shoelaces slapping wetly through the mud that had accumulated in the gravel parking lot. Apparently it had rained in those days that had been stolen from Dean.

He pulled open the door with its leaded glass window and paused when he saw Cas hurrying after him, hair a mess and clothes wrinkled.

"I told you to say in the room."

"I assumed you were speaking to Sam." Cas hesitated, hand on the doorframe very close to Dean's shoulder.

Dean just rolled his eyes, not wanting to argue about it right now. He turned and smiled brightly at the willowy thin man behind the counter, the same that had been there the afternoon he had checked in.

"Hey."

"Good morning." He smiled at Dean in a nondescript way, just pleasant and bland. "Your cousin find you alright?"

"Oh, yeah. It was great to see him- but a bit of a surprise." He leaned on the counter, all friendly smiles. "I haven't been to one of these family things in a few years, the kid was maybe five foot tall last time I saw him. Almost didn't recognize him." And they both chuckled, because Sam's height was enough to surprise most people.

"I drove out from Washington," and he really hoped this lie didn't contradict whatever story Sam had told the man. "Long drive and we've been dead tired." He nodded to Cas who was still standing in the doorway looking a bit lost, and had no idea how the pre-established lies tied in the other man, so he left it ambiguous. "I think we've been out cold since Sunday." And he laughed again. "Almost slept though gigantor knocking on the door. Got me wondering if anyone else recognized my car and stopped by to say hi and I just managed to sleep through it."

The man just looked at Dean steadily. "Nope." He was doing his best to keep up that customer service smile, but it was obvious that he thought the man leaning on his counter was a few tacos short of a Happy Meal. "No one else's been asking about you… Should I be expecting anyone?"

"God, I hope not. My family's a bit strange- there's reasons I don't go more often than every few years." He grinned again. "Thanks, man." Dean turned and left, tugging Cas after him.

"What was that about Dean?" Cas whispered conspiratorially once they were back outside.

Dean took a sharp breath through his nose. "The guy at the desk told Sam I'd only left a few times since checking in."

"I don't understand the significance."

"I didn't leave."

"Then the man was mistaken." Cas said simply with a nod, as if this was beyond obvious.

"He also said no one's been in."

"I fail to see where this line of reasoning is taking us."

"Where the hell did the journals go, Cas?"

The Angel looked at him with a small frown. "I don't have a satisfactory answer to that."

"Yeah, neither do I."

* * *

They all went to a little diner for lunch and Sam paid, mostly because Dean insisted on both accounts. Honestly, he would rather see Sam leave, go back to the safety of his quiet life teaching snot nosed kids, but something bad was happening and Dean was willing to admit that he was definitely in over his head. It was times like these that you took whatever help you could get. Even if said help came in the form of an overly worried younger brother and a sugar coated Angel who didn't know when to shut his yap.

Everyone ordered from the little one-sided menus. Sam got a salad, Gabriel ordered two milkshakes (seriously though, who eats two milkshakes for lunch?), and Cas got a burger with a side of fries. Dean ordered some biscuits and gravy, pancakes, bacon and a side of ribs, much to the amusement of the waitress.

"You sure you don't want some pie to go with that, hon?" She asked, tucking a stray bit of hair behind an ear and smiling in a knowing way.

"There's pie?" He looked up from his laminated menu with a grin that he didn't have to force.

"You know there is." She laughed softly. "You ate almost half'a one yesterday." She clicked her pen and collected the menus from everyone else. "I'll bring you a slice of apple." As she walked back to the kitchen Dean felt the uncomfortable weight of both his brother's and Gabriel's gaze.

"You were here yesterday?" Sam leaned forward whispering like it was some kind of secret that they dare not share with the booth behind them.

"Dude, I've never been in here before."

"She recognized you."

"It must have been some other devilishly handsome bastard. I've just got one of those faces." He played with the salt shaker.

"Or you were possessed." Gabriel pulled out two little pink packets of sugar and ripped them open, spilling them into the palm of one hand. "Possessed men love pie."

"That remains an unverifiable assumption." Cas said with a frown. "There is no way to tell if they prefer pie over any other type of pastry."

Dean sat back, looking between his tablemates and was forced to wonder at what point his life had taken such a strange turn. He watched quietly while the Angels argued, Gabriel licking sugar from his cupped hand between sentences, Cas leaning forward with that overly intense expression that he wore so well and Sam- poor Sam was just trying to make eye contact with Dean, to say something without words. Dean met his gaze just long enough to see the agitation, that 'we really need to talk about this' look on his face.

So Dean grinned and started playing with his straw wrapper. His phone buzzed against his leg and he frowned and pulled it out. It read '1 new text from Sam' and Dean looked up at his brother in disbelief. Were they really going to do this, like little kids passing notes? Sam still had that vaguely pleading look on his face, so Dean sighed softly and flipped open his phone.

-are you sure you dont remember anything?

Dean kept his phone on his lap, tucked under the edge of the table, but it was an unnecessary precaution, and the Angels were too busy bickering to notice what he was doing.

-told u. called u an went to sleep. woke up when u got here

Sam glanced down at his hand and phone hidden beneath the table and came the furious little clicks of him texting back.

-could you have been possessed?

And that was the real question, the one that Sam had not been willing to ask out loud. Dean bore his teeth for a moment and glanced back across the table, giving his brother a shrug and a look that held just an ounce of the sea of worry and doubt that had been building in Dean.

Sam knew him well enough to translate and he sighed softly, pushing his hair back from his face.

Their food came, which interrupted the argument that had somehow morphed into something about how Gabriel was perfectly justified in turning a woman into salt and Cassy could just shut his face- and Cas' rebuttal of: there is no law that disobedience should be punished by transformation.

Gabe sucked down about half of his chocolate shake before pointing with a dripping straw. "She was bitter, prideful and she was asking for it. I gave her fair warning, not my fault she didn't listen."

"_Pride_." Cas glared at the fries that he was dragging through a small lake of catsup. "I hardly feel that you are in a position to lecture anyone on the sin of pride."

Sam's hand settled on Gabriel's leg beneath the table- drawing out a little squeak in place of a rebuttal.

"Just drink your ice-cream." Sam advised, and the hunter shared an appeasing smile with his boyfriend and the boyfriend did as he was told.

It was almost enough to make Dean lose his appetite- the two of them canoodling just on the other side of the table. But only almost- the biscuits and gravy tasted like eight kinds of heaven and he was not about to stop eating. They finished their meal in relative silence, Dean and Cas a bit too hungry to waste time with words. Besides, there was no topic amongst present company that could really be considered appropriate for public.

By the time Dean was scraping up the last flaky bits of golden pie crust, his stomach painfully full of food, he found a few words that might not draw any strange looks from anyone close enough to over hear them.

"So, who's Michael?" He thought it was an innocent enough question, he even thought he knew the answer… maybe. Back in the motel, Gabe had mentioned an older brother- which either meant the fallen Angel Anduriel whom he had blasted into a myriad of pieces back at Bobby's- or some guy named Michael.

Dean had anticipated a simple reply- what he did not expect was the strangely violent noise from Cas as the man scooted away from him, as far as the booth would allow. His blue eyes went wide and his lips were pulled into a thin angry line.

Gabriel pulled the tip of his chewed up straw from between his teeth, sending the barest concerned glance at his younger brother before giving Dean a tight smile. "That's the thousand dollar question, isn't it?" His smile turned into something a bit more complicated and he looked back to Cas. "You wanna' tell him about Mikey?"

Cas made another odd noise, like something wounded, putting the back of a hand to his mouth and shaking his head quickly.

"What was that? Cat got your tongue?" Gabe leaned back, slouching and watching his brother shying away. "Yeah, I was sort of starting to suspect he had something to do with you being down here." His shallow smirk didn't reach his eyes. "Was he the one who kicked you out of the house, Cassy? Can you tell me that much without vomiting blood?"

"Raphael." Castiel whispered from behind his hand, that one word coming out muffled and a little choked.

"Ah- well now it's all coming together, isn't it?" He idly stole one of Sam's croutons, crunching loudly.

"Is it?" Dean felt tight, not able to look away from where Cas sat huddled beside him.

"For those of us in the TV audience who have been following along at home, yes, it is." He lifted his emptied milkshake glass from the table and looked into the bottom of it wistfully. "So, Cassy… what exactly what the contingency for your redemption and homecoming?" He wore a sharp grin as he waited for the answer.

Cas glanced at Dean, just for a microsecond, not more than a flick of his eyes, nothing that anyone else would have noticed if they weren't watching for it. He kept quiet and Gabriel started laughing.

"What's going on?" Sam leaned down, whispering his question just loud enough to be heard over the giggling.

"I could tell you, but I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise." Gabriel's tone was almost mocking.

"Gabe-" Sam's tone (just for comparison) was almost threatening.

Dean managed to look away from Cas, glowering at Gabriel where he sat with his self-satisfied expression. "Who's Michael?" And if Dean reached out under the table to find Cas' hand to hold after the Angel made another one of his brittle sounds- well, it didn't need to mean anything at all.

Gabriel rolled his eyes as if feeling put upon for having to answer. "Third oldest brother- King of the empty castle- he's sort of leading the army against the forces of darkness and a total jackass." He wouldn't meet anyone's eyes, choosing to give his full attention to his empty glass like it had been the one to ask the question. "Biggest reason why I blew that popsicle stand in the first place."

"And what's he got to do with Cas?" Dean was holding a little too tightly to the hand in his, but he was feeling protective and this was slightly stealthier than hugging the Angel to his chest and yelling at everyone else to leave them alone.

"Your guess is as good as mine, cowboy."

"I actually have a feeling your guess might be a bit better this time."

"He-" Cas whispered hoarsely, "your father-" he pulled his hand away from Dean's grasp, pressing them both to his mouth and doubling over far enough that he almost smacked his head on the table, all the while making sharp, strangled sounds.

Despite the fact that Dean _really_ wanted to hear the rest of that particular story, he could see a trickle of blood seeping between Cas' pale fingers. "Son of a bitch." He swore at no one in particular and grabbed a handful of napkins, prying the Angel's hands away and doing his best to wipe up the blood that was attractively trickling from his nose and mouth. "For the love of god, stop talking, Cas."

Cas looked up and his pupils had been reduced to fine pinpoints, giving far too much room for that unnatural blue. He opened his mouth and his teeth were slick with blood as he tried to form more damn words.

In something close to a panic, Dean covered the Angel's mouth. "Sam, go pay the tab and let's get out of here." He was already sliding out of the booth, pulling Cas with him and doing his best to get outside before anyone noticed what sort of state he was in.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN**:Forever apologies for lateness, but there was some serious testing going down and I am now one semester closer to my teaching credentials (wahahaha)

If your university has not finished yet, or you are still in High School, battling your exams- good luck.

Here is a very long chapter containing mild amounts of man-kisses to help ease your pain and stress.

* * *

They booked out two rooms in Columbus, in a motel out near the airport. It was one of those weirdly joined spaces, which shared a door between so you could come and go as you pleased. Dean had his suspicions that it would somehow lead to trouble for someone (and that someone would most likely be him).

Cas was chalk full of tension and practically marinated in blood and sweat by the time they checked in. He had been almost totally unresponsive since the restaurant, bobbing in and out of sleep during the car ride, and it scared the hell out of Dean. It was obvious that Cas either needed a hospital, scotch or a bath and as of that moment they only had access to one of those things.

So (a little begrudgingly) Dean relented his possession of Castiel, and gave him up to the other Angel, letting Gabe settle him into a much needed bath. Dean wasn't sure about a lot of things right now, but he knew that if he was the one undressing Castiel and making sure the angel didn't drown in the tub it, would only lead to wandering hands and trouble. On a different day he wasn't sure that would necessarily be a bad thing, but right now? It was a grossly alien feeling to not trust yourself, and it was making Dean feel sick. Everything was reveling in chaos, the whole day was a complete wash, so he didn't need to top it off in an awkward frolic with a semi conscious Angel in a motel bathtub.

And that's about how he ended up slumped against the headboard of a bed, head in his hands, with Sam sitting at the foot, watching him quietly.

After the sound of the tap died down, and Gabe could be heard singing a slightly off tune rendition of 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds', Dean grumbled and let his hands fall to his lap. "I'm so fucking tired, Sammy."

"Being possessed will do that to you." Sam spoke with the voice of experience, and for once Dean didn't argue about the accusation.

For the first time ever Dean wasn't interested in arguing the fact, and if _that_ wasn't a sign of a coming apocalypse, he didn't know what was.

"This blows." He closed his eyes and tried to corral his thoughts. "The whole Angels and apocalypse _thing_, I didn't ask to be dragged into it. I wanted to hunt normal bad guys- just some werewolves and ghosts, maybe a strigoi or something exotic… like a mermaid with great tits."

Sam just chuckled uncomfortably at that, shaking his head like he found it difficult to believe what he was hearing.

"Come on man, this is way outside the job description. Dad didn't train us for this kind of shit."

"If we start listing all the things that Dad didn't train us for- we could be here _until_ the apocalypse, Dean." He shrugged out of his jacket and kicked off his boots. "Look, it's a mess, and I don't like it anymore than you do, but it's a little late to tuck tail and run."

"You're saying that we're knee deep and sinking fast but we should just grin and bear it?" Dean allowed himself half of a smile. "Sure, why not? We closed the biggest goddamned devils gate ever and have more notches in our gun belts than most hunters our age." He laughed a little humorlessly. "And an apocalypse is the best that _they_ can throw at us?" He didn't even know who _they_ were or if _they_ were still even around, but he spat the word like it was poison. "It'll be a piece of piss. It's not like it's the end of the world, right? And you and me, we're some hardcore, Chuck Norris style, badass, sons of bitches." He cracked an eye as the bathroom door swung open and Gabriel slid out in a waft of steam effectively cutting short his tirade, which was for the best because he had started rambling. It was just one of those days.

"Really?" The blond mused, sitting himself down on Sam's lap. "I always saw you two idiots as something classier… like knights." He flicked some of Sam's hair from his face. "Or flamethrowers… something effective but really messy and overkill for most situations."

"Is Cas gunna' be alright in there alone?" Dean struggled not to frown at the men cuddling at the end of his bed- though, for whatever it was worth, Sam looked a mite uncomfortable with the situation.

"Yeah, he's sleeping." Gabe was busy making eyes at Sam; or trying to, but the younger Winchester was having none of it, and was pointedly looking at the wall behind Dean's head.

The bed creaked under Dean as he got up. "Dude! You can't just let people sleep in the tub."

"Relax, Deano. There's like five inches of water in there with him. He would have to be making an active effort to drown himself in it." He slung his arms around Sam's neck and made himself more comfortable. "But if you're really hoping to see my little brother in his birthday suit you can always burst in dramatically and-"

"No." Dean said quickly and sat back down, but on the other bed because he didn't want to be that close to the happy little couple. "No, I'm sure he's fine."

"Well, I don't know if I would say '_fine'_ exactly. This Michael thing is really tearing him up inside… quite literally." His perpetual smile floundered ever so slightly. "It's a fun little trick my big brother's playing on Cassy: sending him down here with a big job and turning him inside out if he tries to talk about it."

Dean started thinking dangerous and violent things and he really hoped they didn't show on his face. He didn't like how defensive he felt of Cas, and worse than that, he didn't like his lack of control over that feeling. He was better than this; he cursed silently, it's practically in the Winchester job description to bottle this kind of shit deep inside.

"Wait, you were serious back in the restaurant, weren't you?" Sam suddenly jumped back into the conversation, a bewildered look on his face. "Your brother is _Michael_? Like the Archangel who cast Lucifer out of heaven- _that_ Michael?"

"You are too cute when you do your '_smart'_ thing- using that lovely brain you've got under all that lovely hair." Gabe cooed, running his fingers through much of that aforementioned hair. "It's like you actually pay attention to what's going on around you." He leaned into Sam, but looked over at Dean with his oddly gold hued eyes. "If you find someone as attentive and sweet as this, you don't let 'em go." The advice was grating. "That's why me and Sammy are getting married, you know."

"Yeah, well… that's great- tell me where you're registered and I'll get you a freaking china dish set." Dean rubbed at the back of his neck and tried his best to unclench his jaw and somehow found himself back on his feet, heading towards the door.

"Hey there, cowboy. Where you going?" Gabe's chipper voice filled the room, trying to sound light and failing miserably.

"I'm going to the vending machine down the hall, is that ok with you?" He was already opening the door, because it didn't matter what Gabe said. He needed air.

"Get me some Starburst if they have any," was the Angel's reply.

And "no fucking way," was Dean's.

He spent an overly long time standing in front of the vending machine, staring blankly at the well lit candy bars and chip bags. He didn't even know what he was looking at or what he was looking for. All he knew was that he needed to get out of that room.

Dean numbly slotted whatever change his pocket had to offer and punched buttons at random. The vending machine whirled, shuttered and gave him nothing. So, he swore and kicked at the plastic and metal, lashing out in retaliation because he needed something to do more than he needed a chocolate bar. He made a pretty dent before giving up, leaning his head against the glass and closing his eyes to the florescent glow. He should just go back to the room - to his brother's happy relationship - to the smart mouthed and annoying Gabriel, and to the half unconscious and very naked Cas.

They weren't exactly what you would call great options. Well, maybe a little good and in the same heartbeat very, very bad. But they were the only ones that he had.

Something had gotten to Dean. For some reason an Angel - a kind of scary sounding one- had wanted use of him for a few days. And just as easily as it had slipped in to Dean, it had slipped back out. The worst part was that (aside from the fact that Dean had bought a few more nights at a motel and apparently eaten the better part of a pie) he had no idea what had gone on in those two lost days. However, he was willing to bet that it hadn't been anything he would have approved of. Whatever had been going on was enough to freak out the Angels travelling with him, and somehow it all tied in with Cas in a very bad way.

Dean really hated being in the dark when it came to stuff like this - when it came to people he cared about getting hurt. The memory of Cas bleeding, hunching over in pain while struggling to speak was very fresh in Dean's mind and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it besides kick the vending machine a few more times.

Something fell down into the bottom of the machine and Dean blinked in surprise. Kneeling and retrieving his candy, Dean curled his lip when he realized it was a package of Starburst. He was tempted to just put it back and leave it for the next person, but he thought that maybe Cas would like it, so he slipped the packet into his jacket pocket and straightened.

He checked for change in the little return slot- distantly aware that in his daze he had just shoved whatever was in his pocket into the machine and it had spit some back out at him in distaste. He ended up with a Canadian nickel, four pennies and a weird little bit of silver with one side all scratched to hell- all things that the machine refused to take, and the effort to retrieve them hardly seemed worth it. He shoved them all into a pocket any ways and turned to walk back to the room.

The cheap overhead lighting was spaced every few feet or so, running the length of the hall. Some of the bulbs in the last throws of their death; wan yellow light casting everything in a sickly glow. They buzzed and flickered off and on, sending Dean's shadow diving frantically around his feet, dancing and rolling to get away from him.

Something didn't feel right; just an inkling, a wayward strand of unease that wouldn't let up. Dean felt like he had too many shadows. And yeah, ok, that was possibly the most specific and strange sort of feeling that he had had in a while, but when he looked down that was precisely what the problem was. Some were too dark and he swore that some weren't matching his movements quite right, and there was no justice in the world, because if there was then weird crap like this wouldn't always happen to him.

He stopped walking and looked at them all, wondering why in god's name did he have _three_. He looked up, squinting into the watery lights and counted. There was one right above him and one a few paces behind, the one he hadn't reached yet (annoyingly the one in front of his own door) was down for the count, blackened and mocking in its uselessness.

Two light sources meant two shadows- and Dean slowly looked back at his feet, counting the three insubstantial dark things clinging to the bottoms of his boots. His stomach dropped and his hands got that itch that they did when they wanted to be holding a gun. Dean sidestepped a quick juke to the left and watched as his shadows slide along with him. He did that for a minute, dancing in place, staring down his shadows, watching to see if one of them would trip up - but when they didn't, Dean realized how stupid he must look.

Maybe extra shadows were just a side effect of being possessed? And sure, he could believe that, because right now he really needed something to believe in and he was running low on ideas. He stepped back into the motel room, wishing he'd never left.

The door between the two rooms had been closed, and Dean could hear his brother and Gabriel quietly talking on the other side - which he supposed was better than the alternative of hearing them doing something else a tad less hygienic than chatting. So maybe things weren't as bad as they could have been.

Sometime during Dean's absence, Cas had been let out of the bath, and some kind soul had found a late night airing of a kid's movie and settled the man into one of the beds. The Angel looked paler than normal and very transfixed, taking in all the bright colors that reflected chaotically in his eyes, his mouth quirked into the smallest of smiles as a clay-animation fox devoured his breakfast of eggs and toast.

Watching the Angel for a few breaths helped Dean calm down substantially, and that was stupid all on its own - but he was tired of trying to analyze all the things going wrong in his life since Sam woke him up that afternoon.

So he would just let himself have this moment, no stipulations, no provisos; just a little bit of peace and quiet, because everyone deserved a chance to catch their breath. He even allowed himself a smile, because hey, he had an Angel watching cartoons in his room and if that didn't deserve just a little nod to the quirkiness of life, then he may as well just give up now.

Cas yawned, eyes drooping and smile going lopsided. He then proceeded to adjust the blankets around his shoulders, cocooning himself a little deeper and making a contented sound. Dean grinned and finally looked away. Sure things had gone to hell in a hand basket, but he had what roughly amounted to the world's cutest boyfriend, so he supposed he would take the good with the bad without arguing- just this once.

Though he almost missed it, there was a little notepad left out on the table beside the door, just a pad of motel stationary, crowded with Sam's familiar, scrawling handwriting.

_Dean, _

_I gave Castiel a vicodine, so don't freak if he's sleeping deeply. _

_Hope you don't mind the sleeping arrangements. I didn't think it was a good plan to leave Gabe unsupervised, didn't think Cas could keep him in line, and you would probably try to kill him._

_Also, the cup next to the sink has a fifth of whisky- thought you might need it. _

_You look like hell. Get some sleep. _

_We'll figure things out in the morning._

_-Sam_

It made Dean smile. It wasn't Sammy's job to look after him; quite the other way around actually, but the note and the whisky spoke volumes. He tossed back the little plastic cup full of burning goodness and felt a little bit more optimistic about everything. The whisky was cheap, but that was just part of its charm.

Cas made one of his aborted little laugh sounds (much to Dean's surprise) as the movie showed the fox feeding blueberries to a dog and the dog subsequently passing out. Dean couldn't help but smile at the whole picture. He had no idea what sort of drug induced insanity was playing on the television, but the response it drew from the Angel was what Dean could only describe as _adorable_- though he would make a firm point to never say it out loud.

"Hey, Cas. You feelin' any better?" He tried not to be too loud, just enough to draw the man's attention. Maybe it was just the pleasant burn of alcohol already settling like molten gold in his stomach, but he really wanted Cas to look at him, he wanted that awkward little part of a smile directed at him.

He got what he wanted, the Angel looked away from his show, his eyes dilated and a little unfocused in the way that eyes only got after the introduction of opiates. The blanket slipped off his shoulders with his movements and he didn't seem to be in any sort of state to notice such things. Cas' dark hair was still wet from his bath, making it look even darker than normal. In contrast his skin looked as pale as winter ice, and there was more than an average amount of smooth clean skin showing.

The only real problem with this being that Dean wasn't sure if anyone had bothered to make Cas dress after his bath. His chest was completely bare except for the marks Dean had put on him with a sharpie, and the beige blankets had puddled around his sharp hip bones, leaving the other half a quiet sort of mystery that made it very difficult for Dean to think full thoughts.

As Cas slowly came back down to the same plane of existence as Dean, his impossibly wide and dark pupils contracting and his ghost of a smile soured and died. That sweet expression was wiped clean, and its loss was something that Dean greatly regretted.

Cas started to bristle- his body going rigid in stages, hands clenching in the bed sheets and knees drawing close to his chest.

"The hell, Cas? Come on, don't start this again." Dean begged in his gruff manner. "It's just me, I swear."

The noise that Cas made in answer was a broken sort of thing and far less human sounding than one would expect. As such, Dean took a short step back, fighting that instinct to pull his gun, because this was Cas, who quite possibly lacked any actual ability to hurt anyone or thing. It would be like pulling a gun on an injured puppy and you just don't do something like that.

It was an unsettling expression the Angel wore, a sliver of anger but under that he just looked horrified, his lips bloodlessly pale, his eyes wild, all fathomless blue, his pupils constricted too tight to see. He was looking at Dean like he had the first night they met, feral and wounded, poised to bolt at the slightest wrong move.

"It's ok - it's just me. It's Dean." And Dean didn't like this in the slightest. He much preferred angry Cas to the thing facing him, at least he knew where he stood with angry Cas - this just felt dreadfully wrong.

Dean tried a step closer to the bed and Cas bore his teeth, just a little flash of white and he tensed like he was preparing for Dean to strike him.

The hunter's boots scuffed on the low carpet as he dragged himself back a step, feeling heavy. "It's ok." He repeated softly and Cas was looking a little frantic now, searching Dean's face for a lie.

And just as soon as it had all started, that horror and wire tension snapped and Cas sagged against the headboard with a protest of wood and misery.

Dean, no longer afraid of the reaction he might earn, finally closed the distance between them and due to the size of the room, he did not have far to go. He knelt and the mattress dipped under his weight, groaning a complaint that he ignored. "You ok?"

"It wasn't you." Cas whispered haltingly and it sounded like it hurt, his throat compressing around the words. "I thought- som'ne else-"

"It's ok." The words were starting to lose any and all meaning and Dean laid Cas down on the bed, pulling the blankets up over his chest and sliding a pillow beneath his wet head. "You're ok, Cas." Dean got him a drink of water because he needed something to do. When he handed over the cup, Cas opened his mouth, maybe to say thank you, but all that came was a moist sound followed with a cringe.

"Don't. Don't talk. I think you might have broken something." He watched Cas' little frown, then his slow blink that may have been some kind of agreement, and didn't try to speak again.

The order for silence didn't seem to preclude dirty looks, and Cas was staring at Dean with a severe expression, breath still a little uneven and hurried. Hesitant moments passed, unease and distrust a very tangible thing between them. Then Cas half sat up, balancing on his elbows and he drained the cup, his throat clicking.

"I didn't mean to scare you." Not really planning to, Dean reached out and touched Cas' cheek, noting that he had finally shaved and feeling bereft at the loss of that rough, biting stubble. "Sorry."

Cas leaned into his hand, eyes closing slightly, and he shuddered from head to toe in a rolling wave. Dean had no way to tell if this was a good or bad sign.

"Just nod or shake your head- are you gunna' be alright?" Dean was leaning closer, inch by inch, one of those unwilling movements like gravity that he would have been foolish to fight against. Cas gave the barest of nods and Dean kissed his forehead gently. "Good." A fierce little grin flashed over his face. "Now, stop freaking me out. I know I can be a little intimidating, but this' getting ridiculous." He let his thumb gently brush the edge of the Angel's lips. "I'd never hurt you." He added softly, fighting down the smile that wanted to answer the uncertain look he was being given.

"It wasn't you I was-"

Dean cut off those agonizingly jagged words with a quick but firm kiss. "I told you, no talking." The hand he had rested on Cas' cheek slid to the back of his neck, pulling him ever so slightly closer. "You give me a freaking heat attack every time you start shaking and bleeding, so knock it off. I'll figure out what's going on all by myself." He lightly pushed their foreheads together, relishing in the warmth and solidity of the contact. "Now, I'm not possessed- and I hereby promise to tell you if I ever am again… or for the first time. So I don't want you jumping at me anymore. Got it?"

Cas was looking at him very oddly. A particular little frown forming between his eyes, debating if he was allowed to answer the question posed to him - or possibly questioning exactly how Dean planned to tell him if he were possessed in future contingencies. He ended up making a frustrated little grunt, not too painful, but altogether disagreeable. It was his way of telling Dean to stop being an ass, and Dean was alright with that.

Another kiss seemed in order, this one a little gentler but over just as quickly and Cas made a pleased noise in answer, moving just a fraction, parting his lips enough to lick the taste of Dean from them.

A small and strangely placed feeling of triumph thrummed through the hunter as he watched his Angel for awhile longer. It was the best kind of shared silence Dean had ever know, silence like a sanctuary, like a promise. It was a new and budding addiction of Dean's - something untamed and unpredictable and overwhelming at the best of times. The smell, the taste, and the feel of whatever they had- of whatever Cas was to him - it was burning in his marrow, pounding through him from heart to head, begging for more and even the slight tang of blood in his mouth couldn't discourage the craving.

There were about five and a half more kisses before he managed to sit back, his calloused fingers sliding gently over Cas' skin, touching the arch of his collar bone and the hollow of his throat. He had to stop himself, his lips, his hands- before they got away from him and did something he would regret.

Real life wasn't like the movies. There was not some clandestine moment when, after you find out that everything is completely fucked up and way out of your control, you come to the sudden realization that the only answer is to get down and dirty with your best friend or that random character that you've always fought with even though there was an underlying sinkhole of sexual tension.

Tonight in this cheap motel, with their brothers on the other side of a very thin door, would not be Dean's breaking point.

The only reason for his extreme control was echoing though his befuddled mind, and it was a simple one.

Cas deserved better.

And almost as if he agreed, Cas smiled, as open and as beautifully painful as a saw through bone. Things on the edge of Dean's vision started seeming diffused and unimportant. It was like trying to study life through a sheet of cellophane. Everything was still there, but it was fractured and didn't quite line up right. He felt like he was in one of those old black and white films, when the guy sees the beautiful love interest from across the room and everything goes misty and starry. And Dean was smiling back, he couldn't help himself, and even if he could he wouldn't have bothered.

A very warm hand found his, the Angel wrapping his long fingers around Dean's and gripping him much tighter than the situation warranted. Dimly, Dean was aware that the hand that Cas held him with was the one he had cut up when the Impala had been flipped. The tendons had been diced clean through and bandages had been in place since that night, but they were gone now and all that remained of the damage was a thin silvery line, the look of a scar that had had years to try and fade- Dean had many of his own that looked just like it. The two of them matched- sort of- and it corrupted his smile in almost indiscernible ways.

He pulled their hands to his mouth, brushing his lips over that little imperfection and Cas winced and tried to pull away.

"It's a battle scar." Dean explained evenly. "The ladies love 'em." He settled their hands over Cas' chest, and felt mildly surprised that he could feel the frantic rhythm of his heart through the blankets. "Very sexy." And he was not positive that he was still talking about scars, so he frowned a little and tried to get his thoughts in order.

He let go of Cas and sat back, pulling up one of his sleeves to show a smattering of slick scars on the curve of his bicep, like raindrops left on his skin. "See this? I was shot, right here." He nodded when he saw Cas frowning at the old injury. "Sam was eight and I thought it would be a good idea to teach him to shoot a gun while Dad was off on a hunt. Luckily it was just a bird gun… Sam spent about two hours pulling the pellets out of my arm with a set of needle nose pliers. He cried for the whole first half of it, and he wasn't even the one that got shot. Man, he felt so guilty- he still does. It's awesome."

The Angel lightly trailed his fingers over the scars, frowning, not understanding why the story made Dean laugh.

"See, now that's not exactly the way I tell it to the girls I meet- but man, some chicks dig gunshots." He stretched one leg out over Cas' and rolled up a pant leg, showing a jagged set of marks around an ankle. "Bear trap." He said as if that explained everything. Cas touched that one as well, his fingers feather light and leaving a trail of warmth behind. All the while he watched Dean as if trying to figure out what was going on, like none of this made sense, but was still somehow vastly important.

It went on like that for several minutes, Dean pulling something aside, or rolling something up and pointing out his scars, some old and faded, almost ignorable, others still pinkish and painful looking. Cas touched each of them in turn with something akin to reverence on his face.

Dean ended up pulling off his shirt and turning his back on the Angel, showing the slightly uneven scars that raked down parallel to his spine. He was partially through some half true story about a clawed creature in the woods up North that he still swore was the Jersey Devil, when he felt Cas sit up behind him and wrap his thin arms tight round his chest. It was a good, tight hug, with Cas' warm face hiding in the crook of his neck, breath hot and smelling of mint toothpaste and blood.

The story dithered off and died, it wasn't that important anyways. Dean felt happy and for no good reason at all. It was a distant, nascent warmth at the base of his skull- jumbling his thoughts and making him feel like nothing he did in the next few minutes could ever have any lasting effect on the universe. He was adrift in a golden sea and the Angel was his only anchor, nothing hurt, nothing worried him- it was just the two of them and it felt perfect… It was a particular sort of detachment that feebly felt related to overmedication, and that rang an alarm bell somewhere in Dean's mind, but it could have been in Spain for all the good it was doing him.

He placed his hands carefully over Cas' arms, sort of wishing that the Angel could talk, but at the same time knowing there was a very good chance that whatever he would have said would have just come out confusing and misplaced in the current situation.

For some reason (not that Dean was going to complain) Cas kissed his shoulder and the small scars that he had pointed out earlier. More kisses clumsily found those long scars down his back, just light and slow, and possibly the most wonder feeling that Dean had experienced in years. He let the Angel minister to his back; each quivering touch was sacrosanct, seared in memory, a lesser prayer just for him.

Dean's body stilled in quiet bewilderment as Cas pressed his face to his shoulder again, to the crook of his arm and the many thin knife lines there that looked much worse than they were. He held Dean's slightly bent and perpetually bruised fingers to his lips, kissing all the old breaks that were never set quite right, every split knuckle from a bar brawl, every mar and imperfection. The Angel had a bitterly sad expression on his face, like his actions were breaking something within him but he was powerless to stop them. He wasn't looking at Dean's face, but at all those little scars that the world had left on the hunter over the years- all the little signs that he had lived, really _lived_ and done something with his life. Dean didn't regret a single one of them, wouldn't lose one if he had a choice. They were part of him and he liked them. His scars were like old friends, individual memories that he carried with him.

He was waxing poetic in his own thoughts and if that wasn't a sign that something was vastly wrong, he didn't know what was. He had a whole chorus of alarm bells ringing in his head now. And though his first distant concern focused in on the trouble of the day, he _probably_ wasn't possessed again. The warm feelings in him weren't even slightly sinister enough for such an assumption. The danger probably was more deeply embedded in the fact that he felt drugged- and not in a 'someone slipped me a ruffie' sort of way (Dean had actually ingested a hefty dose of Rohypnol once by accident and was familiar with the sensation). No, it was much closer to that clean and prefect feeling that came from morphine… or vicodine.

Vicodine.

His own well-meaning brother had made him a drink to help him sleep. _Really_ sleep. Enough vicodine would knock Dean out for hours, Sam was very aware of the fact that his big brother reacted _very_ well to opiates. But vicodine tended to make his already shoddy judgment complete shit, and also made him a little more tactile than was appropriate for most occasions.

Dean would have a very serious talk with Sam… but probably not until morning, because for some reason Cas was nuzzling into the back of his neck, and though there were no scars there, the Angel still felt a need to kiss him. Dean was not about to interrupt so he could go yell at Sam about something as silly as a little misplaced but well-meaning drugs.

The trailing kisses had not lost any of their softness, hardly more than a flutter of lips against skin, as if Cas were afraid of hurting him and to be quite honest, it was maddening. Fingers were trailing down Dean's cheeks, brushing along the pulse in his neck and sliding oh so carefully into his hair- just holding him like something made of glass and wishes.

"You are so much stronger than I give you credit for." Castiel whispered like he was trying to spare himself the pain of his raw and fragmented voice.

And Dean couldn't help but shiver at the feel of the man's breath against his skin, the trembling lips against his pulse when the Angel spoke. Dean cleared his throat and turned his head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of Cas' face, or any part of him over his shoulder. Cas only pressed closer, his embrace was gentle, yet determined, nearly possessive and somehow that made Dean's chest clench tighter and he had to swallow a lump in his throat.

"Don't go getting all mushy on me, Cas." He said blithely, trying to stop his voice from sticking to the roof of this mouth.

"It only makes this much harder for me." He breathed the words, hardly making a sound.

Dean went cold, that lovely warmth from the drugs in his blood fleeing from him and the light of those words. "Makes what harder?" He didn't think he actually wanted the answer, but the Angel's statement was not one of those things that you could just overlook. It had a foreboding sense of finality to it, regret and a quivering thread of fear that couldn't be ignored.

"Cas?" Dean tried when he received no answer. "What are you talking about? Makes what harder?" But the arms around him were slipping away and Dean was allowed to move again. He turned on the bed and watched the Angel sink into the mess of blankets and pillows, face relaxed in the peace of very deep sleep.

"Son of a bitch." He murmured as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes hard enough that he could watch the kaleidoscope of colors dancing. Dean didn't think he was talking to Cas anymore, but he couldn't be sure. He was probably just talking to himself, cursing his own woeful stupidity for ever getting involved. He never should have gone to visit Sam a month ago.

Yeah, he was fairly certain that is where he went wrong. That stupid decision happened about the same time his ship had started to take on water- and here he was, gone out to sea and it was far too late to start bailing. He was going down fast now and there wasn't a single damned life raft in sight.

Dean had just about his fill of nautical metaphors from his inner voice. He let his hands fall to his lap and he looked over at Cas, quietly killing the smile that tugged at his lips. Apparently no one had instructed the man to get properly dressed after his bath and all he wore was a tangle of blankets and a pair of pumpkin colored briefs. Dean wished that it didn't strike him as funny as it did.

He covered up his passed out Angel and found the remote to turn off the television. His boots were tossed into a corner and he was just slipping out of his jeans so he could go to sleep where he heard a soft, but persistent knocking on the door to the room.

"What?" He hissed out, really annoyed now. He was spent for the night, he honestly felt that he had nothing left to give at this point, and now Sam wanted to have a little talk? It wasn't going to end well. Dean just wanted to sleep. To sleep it all off and wake on a new a glorious morning where he could pretend that his life wasn't screwed six ways to Sunday.

The knocking came again, soft and rushed.

"I swear, dude, this had better be good." He pulled the door between rooms open and had never in his life felt regret so instantaneously or strongly.

It could not have been Sam knocking, plain and simple. Sam was far to occupied with Gabriel's mouth in the most indelicate of ways. Dean was granted an eyeful before he closed the door, wishing for all the world that brain bleach was a real thing. He had never wanted to see his Sammy mid-coitus, and now he was fairly certain that he would never be able to un-see it. Life could be real unfair sometimes.

The knocking came a third time and in a daze, Dean turned and looked at the main door to the room, the one that lead out to the hall. He glanced back at the bedside clock, and there was really no good reason for someone to be visiting him at two in the morning.

"You in there, Winchester?"

Dean startled and turned around quickly, because even as traumatized and dazed as he felt, he recognized that voice and it was no one he had checked in the motel with. He checked his gun, more out of habit than anything else, and slowly opened the door.

Kaleb's daughter stood there in dark jeans, a Sex Pistol's t-shirt and (Dean had not been wrong in his earlier assessment) her hair had been mussed into one of those girly little mohawks that left her looking strangely younger- her pale eyes wide and clear.

"Is that your Angel friend?" She leaned to the side, peering around Dean, suddenly finding the hunter not at all interesting. "What was he, some kind of incentive for enlisting in the war? Because if he is, sign me up for the next one."

Trying to keep from getting needlessly defensive, Dean stepped out into the hall, closing the door quietly behind him. He struggled to remember her name; it was a problem he always seemed to have with girls. "Penny?"

She leaned away slightly, sizing him up and pursing her lips into a thin line.

He fought to recall the name given him a few days prior. "A-Andy?" And when she nodded slightly he kept going. "What are you doing out here- did you follow me?"

She scoffed and folded her arms under those lovely breasts, drawing Dean's eye and distracting him for a moment. "No."

"No?" He looked up at her face- her _very_ young face, and it quelled the something warm that had been stirring inside his gut. "You just happened to be staying in the same motel as me? That's quite a coincidence, don't you think?"

She drew a sharp breath. "I don't believe in coincidence. I believe in the curlicue whimsy of fate." Her voice was still a little soft, but the brunt of her bruising had faded to soft twilight colors, light fingerprint marks on the curve of her pale neck.

"The curly-what now?" He didn't know if she was joking with him or not and he was far too tired to make any clear assumptions at this point.

"I'm here because I need to be, not because I _happen_ to be."

"And you're following me." He said again, no longer a question.

She pursed her lips again and wouldn't meet his eye.

"Yeah, you might not know this about me, but I don't like being followed."

"It's about the journals I gave you." She started quietly, looking at the overhead lights and scuffing her flip flops against the concrete. "You really seemed like you needed them, busting into my house and making such a big deal."

A bad feeling bloomed in Dean. "The journals?"

Andy looked over at him and took a little step closer. "You _do_ remember them… right? No head trauma since I last saw you?" She unfolded her arms and shoved her hands into her pockets. "Because you look like hell."

Dean tried his best not to frown. "It's been an interesting few days."

She looked him up and down in a slow and appraising way, her gaze lingering a little too long in places that made Dean feel a little uncomfortable. "Did you want them back or not?"

"_Back_?" He leaned down to meet her eye, something clicking. "You took them?"

"You gave them back to me, asshole." Her little button nose wrinkled in annoyance.

"I-" And something kind of curdled. "You wanna' remind me when that was again- the last few days have been a bit fuzzy."

"Are you serious, Winchester?" And she glowered at him long enough that he almost answered her. "Monday morning. You hunted me down and foisted them on me."

"I _foisted_?" Dean wasn't sure if he had ever foisted anything in his life.

"Are you drunk or something?"

And because that seemed like a better thing to admit to instead of possession- especially to another hunter, Dean smiled a practiced smile and shrugged.

She rolled her eyes and made an annoyed noise. "Look, I translated what I could, but Dad was a complicated man." Her frown quivered just a little but she squared her shoulders and met his gaze steadily. "It's going to take me a while to get through all three of them."

"It's my brother who needs them, but I'll let him know you're working on it." He frowned at himself and his own ability to not think quickly. "You wanna' just go tell him what you've got so far? He's... busy right now, but he'd probably love to talk shop in the morning."

"No." she winced and actually took a step back. "I- one Winchester is enough for me." She started to walk away from him, down the hall and the long line of shabby rooms. "You still want my help? Want to see what I've got so far?"

"Sure." And that word felt a little final, like some kind of signed confession he wouldn't be able to take back, but Dean shook himself, sending all his doomsday inclinations scattering and he followed her delightfully pert ass down the hall.

Surprisingly, she wouldn't let him in her room- telling him that she still didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. She was gone only a few moments and when she returned it was with one of the journals, full to bursting with pink and yellow post-it notes sticking out every which way. "Best I've got so far."

"Thanks, kid." He took it from her and earned himself a staggeringly heavy glare.

"I'm not a kid." And she almost looked like she was going to take the journal back, instead she dug her hand into his jean pocket- lightning fast- and took his cell phone.

"Hey, what the hell?" He made to grab it back from her, but she turned away, rolling her shoulders up and huddling around the pilfered bit of technology.

"I'm giving you my number, jackass. This way I don't have to follow you around."

"I thought you said you didn't follow me out here." He accepted the phone back from her and slid in into an arbitrary pocket, smiling just a little.

"Yeah, you didn't give me much choice." She folded her arms again and managed to look very small standing beside him.

From his considerably greater height he could see over her shoulder and into her room. It looked like a bomb had gone off, clothes and books and weapons strewn about chaotically. She had made quite a mess in a very short period of time. It wasn't particularly surprising, nothing was _shocking_ about seeing that kind of disorder- however there was a sword on the bed beside a box of bullets and a pair of black panties. Dean found swords impractical in a fight, especially one that big, especially for someone as small as Andy. It was pristine and lustrous even in the cheap lighting and Dean had never seen a sword quite like it.

Andy glanced over her shoulder, following his gaze and she huffed, stepping into the hall and closing the door, much the same as he had done to her when she had been peeking at Cas.

"I don't know where I'm headed after this, but you can give me a call in a few days- maybe I can mail the other journals to you or something." She popped a hip against the doorframe and watched the expressions mixing over Dean's face. "Or I can just keep following you around, you and your hot boyfriend." She didn't make it sound like a venue that she particularly wanted to follow.

"He's not my boyfriend." Dean said a little quickly, wondering how much trouble she would bring if she did decide to follow him wherever he was going. He didn't like the idea. He gave her Bobby's address, letting her know to just send whatever she decoded to the old man's place.

"I'll do my best." She kind of hugged herself and looked up and down the empty corridor like she had heard someone say her name. Andy was a peculiar girl, a hunter's daughter, and damaged goods. She was hardly holding herself together. Dean knew how it felt, because it was about how he had felt since Sam woke him up that morning. He was just much better at hiding that feeling.

John had taught his boys many things, instilling in them a very shaky set of ethics to fall back on in moments of doubt. And Dean would argue most days, if it was brought up, but he had internalized some serious white knight morals at some point.

It didn't matter that he knew the answer, he still asked. "You doin' ok?" He cursed his inner Sam voice that always wanted to hug and comfort- luckily it never really extended beyond helpless women, but it was still damn uncomfortable.

Her eyes flashed and she looked at him like he had just brought her mother's sexually decency into question. "Are you seriously that stupid? Because you don't look that stupid." She came closer to him, close enough that he could smell her shampoo, something more expensive and flowery than whatever Cas had used earlier. "How do you think I'm doing?"

"You look like hell." He said simply and he earned a smile.

"You're so sweet." But that smile fled, and she pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth for a moment, not able to hold eye contact. "Look, what you want me to say? I'm not ok, alright? And I'm not going to fucking be ok any time soon. Is that it?"

Hall lights flickered and time stretched out until it felt brittle. Dean had always hated this kind of silence. "Can I get you anything?"

"Like a drink?"

"I was gunna' offer you a puppy… but sure." He chuckled softly. "I've got a flask back in my room if you want it." He could indulge a minor in a little drinking, she looked like she needed it.

"How about you just change my bandages?" She tensely rolled a shoulder, the one that Dean had clean the teeth marks on. "They're a real bitch to get to."

"I can do that too." And he did, and her skin was hot under his hands. The bite marks had not healed, in fact they looked a little infected, angry red marks radiating around them and over her freckled shoulder. He dug into the first aid kit that she had provided him and he did the best he could. "You might need to see a doctor, it's not deep but it's definitely getting worse."

"I've got some antibiotics. I'll be ok." The fine muscles in her back were twitching as he smoothed his fingers over the tape and gauze. She glanced over her shoulder at him, the little silver ring in her ear glinting as she tilted her head.

"If it gets worse you go see a doctor." He said in his most authoritative voice.

"Yes, sir." Her tone was a bit cocky, and her posture was a bit unforgiving.

His fingers smoothed over the tape again, sort of a slow petting movement. "Hey, I'm just worried about you." He offered.

"You don't know me." And it was a testament to how young she really was because no adult could have said those words with quite as much petulance.

Dean attempted a slightly different approach, knowing what he would have wanted to hear in her position. "Just keep taking care of yourself."

The steely look on her face softened and then melted away. Her eyes brimmed with tears and she stumbled to her feet, pulling her shirt back on and hissing at the movement of her shoulder. "I'll send the journals to your friend when I'm done with them."

He weighed his options and made a quick decision, following her halfway across the room and pulled her into a tight hug. It was the right choice and she almost immediately fell against him, crying into his shoulder. She dissolved quickly for someone who had put up such a tough front.

And though Dean didn't have any good words to tell her, he could keep his arms around her and rock her slowly while she sobbed.

It took her long minutes to pull herself back together, it gave Dean an opportunity to take a more detailed inventory of her arsenal. It was a lot of the same things she had pulled from her home, other than the sword. Dean never left his things out like she had done, not unless he was arming himself for a hunt, but he was the last person to lecture anyone on keeping a room clean. It just felt a little disrespectful to the weapons lying out like she had.

She finally sniffled and let go of his shirt, hastily wiping at her eyes like she was trying to hide any evidence of her breakdown. "If it the bite gets worse I'll go to the hospital," was her soft promise. She was watching him with those cold eyes that were now a little red.

Dean had a strange desire to kiss her, and he knew very firmly that it was only because she was close and a woman… or a girl. He made a face and mentally slapped himself. He wasn't interested in her, not that way- not beyond a simple stirring that had everything to do with just being male and nothing to do with her personally. Dean had Cas- his incredibly sexy and socially awkward Angel. Andy couldn't hold a candle to Castiel. Dean just needed to remind himself.

"Good." He scooped up the journal she had given him.

"I'll call you in a few days- see how the translating is going." He had wanted to say to 'check in' on her but he had a feeling it wouldn't go over well. Honestly, he had a lot on his plate right now and babysitting her was not really something he wanted to take on, but under everything, he was a good man and she was had no one else.

He left her and went back to his room, admiring the blanket burrito that Cas had made himself into. There was very little night left now; dawn was only a few hours off and sleep was paramount at this point. He wanted to just fall down where he stood, feeling weary to his bones. It had been a very taxing day. Dean managed to go as far as to pull his shirt back off before crawling into the empty bed and feeling mildly annoyed at how the button on his pants was digging into his abdomen. It was unpleasant, but not enough for him to rally the strength to get back up.

No matter what he tried to coerce himself into, Dean could not sleep. Not even after he abandoned his own bed with a distant hope that the warmth of someone beside him would be the key he was looking for. Cas pressed his face into Dean's shoulder for the last time that night, unconsciously shifting towards the other man, breathing deeply in his own sleep that had come so quick and easily.

Dean hated Cas and his smugly unconscious self right then, even if there was no real malice behind the feeling.

He was a wreck. He was so far from alright that it had bypassed being funny and dead serious and come right back around to being just fucking hilarious.

He put a hand gently on Cas' back, kissed his messy hair that smelled like motel shampoo, and quietly watched the world grow light beyond the heavy curtains.


	16. Chapter 16

AN: I wish I had a slightly longer chapter to offer yall, especially to help stave off the 'guest' who threatened me with bodily restraint and Kid's Bop if I didn't finish this story. (Thank you whoever you are, you gave me a good laugh on a very bad day.)

I have no intention of abandoning this story and the next chapter is about half done already. Life is just got a bit too LIFEy for a while. I'll try to keep my footing and keep the updates coming.

* * *

Something had come loose in the hours that Dean tossed and turned and refused the reprise of sleep. He could feel it rattling around inside him, banging against the vital parts of his mind; crippling hope, and trust, and other things that _really_ didn't need any extra encouragement in order to fall apart.

There came into being a vital need for coffee; either that or a medically induced coma. Awake or asleep. Anything other than being in the weird limbo of doubt he found himself adrift in.

There was a stale taste in the back of his throat and an orphaned bruise on his left forearm that he couldn't remember the origin of. He rubbed the back of his wrist over his mouth and debated if he would have doughnuts with his coffee or if that kind of sugar would just make him feel sick at this point.

Dean gave up trying to pretend to sleep when he was able to hear Sam and his insufferable little boyfriend waking up and talking in less-than-hushed voices. He rolled onto his back and tried to find answers in the patterns of morning light cast over the ceiling.

It was a subtle but stern effort that Dean made not to look over at the Angel still sleeping beside him. Dean had done more than enough of that during the night, and Cas' stupid face had not laid bare any truths or answers to any of life's great mysteries. And honestly Dean was still worried about the night before- it didn't matter how much of it he wanted to just chalk up to the Angel being well medicated- he couldn't shake the feeling that Cas' weird confession right before he passed out was something that Dean should actively be frightened of.

Why was Cas here?

What did it have to do with Dean?

What had Michael wanted him for- aside from a quick joyride?

Dean had an inordinate amount of questions buzzing in his skull. It was like a swarm of angry bees had taken up residence over the past few hours and he had no idea how to placate them or to lure them out.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and groaned softly in an attempt to drown out the drone of his own thoughts that had kept him wide awake for so many hours. He could push it all aside long enough to get a shower and some breakfast. He needed to. He could drown in his doubts latter, once his blood sugar levels were back somewhere this side of the red.

Few things in life happen gently. Maybe spring showers, or flowers opening to the morning sun, perhaps even butterflies or other girly, delicate things.

Castiel was not delicate and neither was the way in which he woke up beside Dean. A brief warning sound, caught halfway between a yawn and a thunder storm was the only warning that Dean received- not even enough to lower his hands from his eyes- before the Angel crashed into him. It was a mess of thin arms and morning breath and Dean smiled in spite of the bruise he could feel forming on his ribs where Cas' unforgiving elbow had found its target. The hunter couldn't quite manage to pull his arms out from between their bodies as Cas crowded him, sort of oozing over his chest and resettling in an overly warm but not unpleasant way.

"Cas… can I help you with somethin'?" Dean asked softly, not even sure if the Angel had yet reached a stage of wakefulness that allowed for speech.

There was a soft rustle and even though he could not see them, he could feel the touch of Cas' wings settling over them, warm and as soft as a dream. "No thank you, Dean. I do not require any assistance." The Angel breathed over his neck, stifling another yawn as he became a sort of blanket for the hunter.

Through sheer determination, Cas managed to wheedle an arm beneath their chests and extract just enough of Dean's arm that they could hold hands and that was just fine. Dean curled his fingers tightly, dragging the digits up to his lips and lightly kissing them.

"I am not awake enough for kisses, Dean." The Angel objected in a halfhearted murmur, and Dean could not hold back a hollow chuckle.

"If you and your fat ass are gunna' lay on me, I have full rights to your fingers." He kissed the pad of Cas' thumb to make his point.

"It is not any fatter than yours." His sleep heavy voice took on a defensive lit.

"Have you been comparing them?" Dean teased, easily amused at the gentle idea for his mind to dwell on.

"Was I not supposed to?" Cas shifted, peeking up from Dean's chest, trying to look him in the eye.

Dean was too tired not to laugh at the open innocence in that single question. He grinned and kissed the Angel's warm hand again, followed by the soft pulse in his wrist and Dean earned himself a strange throaty sound from the man watching him with lidded eyes.

"You check out my ass all you want." Dean shifted his hips, trying to find a comfortable spot between the lumpy mattress and the Angel's ribcage. "As long as it's not in public."

"We are not in public, Dean," and if that sounded more like an offer than anything else then it was just the first sign that Dean had started getting loopy from lack of sleep.

Dean took that offer, imagined or otherwise, and he gently drew Cas up so they could see each other eye to eye. And Dean had had intentions of some kind of toe-curling, breathless, hip rolling, good-morning kiss, but Cas had sat himself up on his elbows and was blinking sleep from his clear blue eyes, looking freaking beautiful in the morning sun light that slipped through the parted curtains. The feeling that slapped Dean across his face made his chest tight in a way that scared him speechless, and he was struck by the realization that this was not a feeling that would fade anytime soon.

He refused to name it, to give it any more power than it already had, but this feeling… Dean knew it. He had heard legend of it. He knew its name, all the dirty and dangerous things that people called it. He knew the stupid things people did in the name of it, and how even just a glimpse of it can shatter you. So Dean pushed that feeling aside too, as much as he was able. He shoved it down with the doubt and the fear and all the other things that he had tried valiantly to condition out of himself.

The muscles in his stomach bunched as he sat up too, meeting Castiel's sleepily yawning mouth in a gentle kiss.

Cas smiled; one of those welcoming, inviting expressions that he seemed to be rationing because Dean had only ever seen it used once before. Dean wasn't sure he remembered how to breathe, so he opted to kiss Cas again. If he was about to suffocate through his own love-struck-stupidity, at least he could leave this world with the taste of the other man on his lips. Luckily it seemed that his body remembered how to do that neat breathing thing on its own; though why his chest was burning with each stuttering gasp was a mystery that Dean did not want to divvy any extra thought processes to.

It was around the same time that Cas was settling himself more intimately into Dean's lap that Gabriel decided to show his damnably chipper face in their room. He only knocked once and then just let himself in like he owned the place, and from the corner of his eye, Dean watched some certifiably obnoxious morning greeting blink out of existence.

Gabriel's bright eyes went wide for a moment and a mix of emotions cascaded over his pointed little face, before settling into a frighteningly toothy grin. "Hell's bells, Dean. I told you to uses that Winchester charm to sweet talk information out of him- that's not the same thing as giving you permission to bump uglies in a cheap motel." He folded his arms over his chest, looking at them as if trying to decide what sort of punishment could possibly be suitable for such a crime. "You could at least put a sock on the door- a man deserves a bit of warning before walking in on his brother getting boned. This kind of stuff can be traumatic for a guy."

Sam chuckled somewhere in the other room, then made the mistake of coming over to see what amusing and compromising position his boyfriend had found their brothers in. By the look on his face what he found was not at all what he had expected.

"Dean?"

"Shut your yap, Sammy." Dean instructed as he let his hands fall from Cas' hair to settle at the small of his back. "I'm not really in the mood for one of your lectures right now." He felt defensive and a little guilty and it had nothing to do with what had been interrupted and _everything_ to do with the strange look his brother was giving him. It wasn't like Sam hadn't walked in on him in the midst of far more incriminating situations, but this was different somehow.

He didn't want to feel guilty about Cas, because the Angel was pretty much the only good thing he had going for himself these days.

But when it came down to it, he did.

He felt really fucking guilty.

Dean had every intention of telling his brother about whatever _this_ was. This thing he and Cas had- however this was nowhere close to how he had intended to let Sam know about this new and lovely little sin he had discovered. But that ship had kinda sailed. The barn doors were open, the cows were out and the bag was really devoid of cats.

"Dean," Sam averted his eyes, stumbling over his words. "Um… like Gabriel said, this is a little traumatic. You really should have warned us."

"Yeah, like this is any more disturbing than the sexcapades that I walked in on last night."

And if there was any doubt as to what he was referring to- it was not had by Sam. Dean's younger brother turned a lovely shade of red and stammered out something incoherent before shrugging it off and folding his arms over his broad chest.

"Aw, you tell em, Sammy." Gabe encouraged enthusiastically, patting Sam's shoulder and grinning up at the much taller man.

Dean, disengaged from the man on his lap, getting off the bed and turning to face the interruption tag-team that loomed in his doorway. He rolled his shoulders and somehow found a smile. "Got a present for you, Sammy."

"I don't think I want it." Sam looked up, dubious of the offer and there was a troubling light to his gaze. It was definitely that 'we need to talk' expression, but it seemed entirely involuntary. Like he already knew the script that Dean would be reading from, and there was nothing that could brace him for having to actually hear the words spoken aloud.

"Don't be a puss." Dean snatched up the battered journal that he had received the night before and he held it out like an olive branch.

Sam blinked and picked up the shabby little thing with the same unwarranted reverence that he always managed towards books. "What's this?"

"Kaleb Elias' journal- well, one of them. With cliff notes and everything." He managed to stifle a grin as he saw his distraction take full hold of the other man's thoughts. "Please try to contain your gratitude, Sammy."

The pages made soft fluttering sounds as Sam leafed through them, the bright post-it notes flashing merrily. "This is… where did you find this?"

"Kaleb's daughter brought it by last night. She's still translating the others, but I'll get 'em to you if you ask real nicely."

Sam was already lost in the pages, sitting himself down in the room's only chair and bowing his head over the lines and lines of careful writing.

"You're welcome." Dean said with a roll of his eyes, knowing full well that he had lost Sam, but at the same time, so unspeakably grateful for the distraction.

Gabriel was peering over his boyfriend's shoulder looking equally caught up in whatever notes and annotations had been left on those many, many pages

Dean leaned down and kissed Cas gently. "I'm gunna go get a shower then see if I can't find some coffee."

"Can I come with you?" Cas was still leaning upwards, straining ever so slightly after Dean even though the hunter had already pulled back.

"Sure."

It had been a simple answer and Dean didn't know what to do when he noticed Cas getting off the bed and following him to the bathroom.

"The _coffee_, Cas. You can come with me to get _coffee_." He explained carefully, not entirely sure where the miscommunication had come from. "And you _really_ need to put pants on." Dean was struggling to keep his gaze fixed somewhere near the Angel's ear. It wasn't so much that the sight of the mostly naked man did funny things to Dean's insides- and that's a giant lie. It really had _everything_ to do with those feelings that made his stomach and pants tight. However, they were not alone in the room and he felt a vast need to keep such reactions to himself.

"I need to put on pants for a shower?" Cas tilted his head, clearly confused.

Gabriel started laughing and it caused Sam to glance up from his book and he looked just as confused as Cas, though most likely for different reasons.

"Why isn't Cas wearing pants?" Sam asked the room like he was taking a poll, honestly expecting someone to venture an answer- like there was any proper answer to a question like that.

Dean found himself grinning, thinking that '_Why isn't Cas Wearing Pants?_' would possibly be the best title for a game show _ever._ He would totally tune in once a week, watching with the curtains drawn and the lights out.

"Because I was sleeping… is it customary to get redressed between waking and showering?" Cas made it sound like he thought that that would be a horrible waste of time, but that he would be willing if it were required of him. When he didn't get an answer from Sam he looked back at Dean, who just shook his head.

"No." Dean sighed through his smile. "But you're not talking a shower. I am." A few days ago this whole thing would have put him on edge; his discomfort manifesting in short aggressive bursts of attitude and snark- as protocol demanded. But not today. Today it was just funny for some reason, and that was probably the sleeplessness and stress and fear making things come out wrong, but Dean would take it. He didn't have much say in the matter anyways.

"Oh." Cas managed to put a startling amount of disappointment in that single word.

"Just get dressed- I'll be right out. And don't let Tweedle-dee and Tweddle-dumb give you any lip about us kissing."

Sam made a small protesting sound, like he couldn't quite hold back everything he wanted to say in response to that.

"Look, Sam… I'm only going to explain this once- because you know I don't do this show and tell crap. Cas and I are… well… we just are- just like you and your little feathery weirdo, except currently with one hundred percent less sexually explicit activities- which I intend to remedy at some undisclosed point in the hopefully not too distant future. I don't want to discuss it beyond this right here and now. I don't want a lecture, I don't want advice, and I don't want you trying to talk me out of it."

"Can I ask a question?" Sam used his best inside voice, the one he would sometimes get when he was much younger and making a suicidal attempt at discussion with John.

"I really doubt that there is any force on this planet that could somehow shut down that part of you." Dean sighed and braced himself for whatever it was that Sam would hit him with, knowing full well that if he didn't have a good answer he could just retreat to the bathroom.

"Are you happy?"

The buzzing came back, those doubts and thoughts rising up and deafening for a moment. Dean gritted his teeth and refused to let his eyes wander to Cas while he struggled with that unexpected question.

The answer came to him unbidden, just a gut reaction that came rolling out from somewhere deep inside and when nothing substantial rose up to crush it, the thought was given voice. "Yeah. Of course I am." He answered softly, as if a bit of misery had never stood in the way of his actions before. As if a bit of misery had never been the cause or goal of his actions before. Of course he was happy, why wouldn't he be? He stared his brother down, daring him to question the half-truth, and he could see, plain as day that Sam knew that the half-truth was also a half-lie.

Sam looked away first, studying the way his hands held the little leather bound tome that he was currently attempting not to strangle. When he looked up again it was with a smile that seemed almost genuine. "That's good enough for me."

"So glad we have your blessing." Dean gave a mock bow and retreated to his off put shower that had waited so patiently for him.

* * *

Dean ended up getting a dozen doughnuts, not because he was that hungry, but because he had a feeling that Gabriel would probably end up eating most of them, and he figured if the little jerk was full of sugar he might leave Dean alone for a bit. Cas sat beside him in the car, the sweet smelling pink box balanced on his lap, watching the city streets passing the window.

"I have been thinking and I have decided that I like your brother."

"Sam?" Dean glanced over, not sure where this was going.

"He still has a very corruptible look to him…" Cas paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "But while you were in the shower Gabriel tried to explain to me that any feelings I thought you might have towards me were a fabrication. You were simply doing a favor for him and taking it too far."

Dean's teeth hurt from how hard he was clenching his jaw. There was no way he was going to be sharing his doughnuts with Gabriel now. That son of a bitch could get his own breakfast. "He's wrong."

"I know that." Cas actually laughed, his strange sharp laugh that said he had never once questioned Dean's motives. "While I was trying to explain to Gabriel how wrong he was Sam came to your defense. He said… he said many fierce and lovely things about you. I think he might be the type of brother that is both loyal and wonderful."

Not knowing what to say to that, Dean just watched the traffic light and nodded slowly. "Yeah… he's a pretty good guy."

They found a coffee shop, some non-Starbucks location and Dean got him and Sam coffees and for once he actually ordered Sam's drink the way he liked it. He also ordered a bagel, because he knew his brother wasn't big on doughnuts. See, Dean could be a wonderful brother too.

Sam honestly looked confused at the offering, but smiled a wary thanks and took his food. Things between them might end up a bit awkward for a while, but Dean had a feeling that it would all even out. It usually did.

He sat on the edge of his bed and slapped Gabriel's hands away from his doughnut box. "So, you kids find anything good in that book? What exactly are you looking for anyways?" He allowed Cas to hesitantly size up a maple bar and claim it as his own.

"Things about the war, the Angels," Sam sipped at his coffee and gave Dean another hesitant smile, seemingly surprised that it was the right drink for once. "Your denarius friends that keep trying to kill Castiel."

"Can you explain again why your boyfriend doesn't already know about this shit?" Dean ate something chocolate with sprinkles and regretted nothing.

Gabriel stole part of Sam's bagel and made a face at Dean. "Because his boyfriend left before all this _shit_ started going on and no one in his family is willing to talk to him."

"And you care about what's going on down here with us because?" Dean honestly didn't see any motive in this for the little Angel.

"I have my reasons." He replied cryptically.

"You gunna start vomiting blood if share these reasons?" Dean glanced at Cas who looked to be wholly occupied with picking the frosting off of his doughnut and eating the crumbling amber flakes one at a time. It would suck, but wouldn't surprise Dean if both Angels had the same sort of information sharing ban going on.

Gabriel just smiled enigmatically and slouched in his chair, gazing longingly at the box full of pastries that he was not permitted to touch.

"Dean-" Sam narrowed his eyes at the little post-it notes littering the page laid out before him. "Who is the righteous man in hell?"

"How the fuck should I know?" It was for this very reason that Dean typically left the research to his brother.

"I don't know- I just _assumed_ that since you wrote it maybe you'd know what it meant."

Dean looked up from the sprinkles stuck to his fingers and frowned. "I didn't write shit. What are you talking about?"

Sam held up the journal even though it was on the other side of the room and the words were too small for Dean to read. "You didn't write these notes?" The younger Winchester asked like he simply refused to believe that Dean was not just fucking with him.

"Andy did the translating- I had nothing to do with it."

"Did she dictate to you?"

"No," Dean said quickly. "It was just a hug."

The look Sam gave him was…well, heavy was the best word for it. "_Dictate_, Dean. Was she telling you what to write?"

"For fuck's sake, Sam. No. I didn't write _anything_. What's wrong with you?" He stood, coming to loom over his sitting brother, annoyed that they couldn't just eat breakfast together like millions of other dysfunctional families did all across the united states- no, they had to argue about damn post-it notes.

"It's your handwriting." Sam's voice dropped and he let Dean roughly take the book from his hands.

Have you ever seen something so infinitesimally wrong that your brain refused to tell you what it was, but your gut had no such qualms? Dean looked at those little bits of paper, crowded over with clumsy, slanted letters made with awkward, abrupt strokes. He realized that he could taste his heartbeat in the back of his throat and it was an unpleasant sensation at least. The letters were all there, in their right places, some scribbled out darkly and rewritten on separate lines- and it had been a while since Dean had seen anything that looked so very wrong without reason.

"I didn't write these."

"You misspelled righteous." Sam pointed out almost gently. "You always do." And now was actually not the time for a lesson in spelling and grammar.

"I didn't write these." He shoved the book back, wanting it out of his hands. "It was Andy- she did- she made the notes."

"Dean," Sam started in his most reasonable voice, "I've only been teaching high school for a few months- but this is definitely not a teenage girl's hand writing. It's yours."

It wasn't that Dean was running away from his problems, quite the opposite actually- though he could see how the fact that he turned and stomped out of the room could have been mistaken as an evasion of sorts.

He went down the hall to Andy's room and pounded on the door with the back of a fist, it wasn't exactly polite, but Dean wasn't exactly feeling polite right then. "Andy, open up."

She didn't answer his summons and Dean wasn't sure if she was avoiding him or if she had checked out earlier that morning.

A door down the hall opened and Sam came out of their room, walking quickly to Dean's side and looking worried. "Is this her room?"

"It was last night." Dean pulled out his phone and dialed the number that the girl had programmed in the night before. It rang straight to voice mail and her terse 'I'm not here- leave a message' sounded almost alien in the recording. "Andy, it's Dean Winchester…" Dean hesitated, not sure what exactly to say, if he was accusing her of something nefarious or just looking for answers. "It's important… call me back."

Sam was watching him with that still same worried expression, "Do you think this has something to do with you being," Sam bit down on the next word, not willing to say 'possessed'. "When you were riding shotgun?"

Dean huffed, shoving his phone back into his pocket. "Hell if I know. Apparently that's when she got the journals from me in the first place, so it's possible." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Sammy, when you were... you know-" he found he didn't want to say the word 'possessed' either. "Were you missing things?"

"Things?"

"Days." Dean clarified even if the word caught in his throat and he couldn't remember the last time anyone had looked at him so sympathetically.

"Bits and pieces." Sam assured. "I think I was only awake for the parts she wanted me there for."

"And what did Michael want me for?" It was one of the questions that had kept Dean far from sleep the night before, though surprisingly it was not the thing that worried him the most.

"Hopefully not the same thing that Castiel wants you for." Sam was fighting back a smile.

"That's not funny." He bristled, his cheeks growing warm.

"Yeah it is." Sam assured his brother and started walking back to their room.

"Laugh it up, bitch. But I've got an extra shadow and I'd love to hear your explanation for that."

It was with some satisfaction that Dean watched his brother's smile fade. Sam looked at him, and it was an openly lost sort of expression, the same that Cas gave him so often. The two brothers stood side by side watching Dean's shadows- one normal and slanting just as Sam's, the other one thick and trailing off in a skewed direction in an open rebellion against natural laws.

"Well…" Sam started slowly and Dean could practically hear the gears churning. "Well… shit."

"Does that mean you don't have a smartass answer, Mr. Teacher?"

"I think I need my laptop." And with that Sam was off, back to the room, leaving Dean and his shadows to follow after him.

Gabriel had managed to polish off the box of doughnuts and was idly licking frosting from his fingers while leafing through Kaleb's journal. "Oh, Sam, you quit before you got to all the steamy bits."

"Steamy?" Sam was halfway between the door dividing the rooms but he stopped to give Gabriel an incredulous look.

"Oh yeah." Gabriel wore a wild sort of grin, a little unhinged and manic. "We're talking about breaking seals and opening cages and Lucifer rising up. It doesn't get much steamier than that."

"L-Lucifer?" Sam abandoned all thoughts of his laptop and Dean watched uncomfortably as his brother went to hover over Gabriel, his large hands flexing empty at his sides.

"Oh, you'll like him. He's the pretty brother." Gabriel kept that grin in place and Dean felt a little sick.

Cas was sitting quietly on one of the beds, seemingly unable to confirm or deny Gabriel's bold statement. Instead he had a hand pressed tightly to his mouth and he was pointedly not looking at Dean.

"Lucifer?" Sam asked again, maybe a bit louder this time. "Like as in The Devil. That Lucifer?"

"I only know the one. It's not really a common name." Gabriel sort of half hugged the journal to his chest let his grin die in a tight laugh. "Apocalypses sure are exciting."

And despite the fact that this conversation was as interesting as it was disturbing, Dean's phone had started to ring against his leg so he stepped into the second bedroom and closed the door behind him.

"Did you start to miss me already, Dean?" Andy teased gently when Dean answered his phone.

"Not exactly." He went to sit on the bed, but immediately thought better of it and remained standing.

"Wha'da ya need?" There were strange background sounds, clattering almost like a train, people talking with strange inflections.

"The journal you gave back to me, it-" Dean took a sharp breath, realizing how stupid he was about to sound. "Did you make the notes?"

"Notes?" She said the word in her slow way, like she wasn't sure she was hearing him right.

"The translations- all the little notes… those are yours, right?"

"Wrote them with the very hand God gave me." Came her strange answer. "You got a problem with 'em?"

"No." Dean felt a little stuck on her choice of words, but he didn't want to turn them into anything deeper or more menacing than she had intended. "Your handwriting is shit, is all."

"Aw, thanks, Winchester. Did you call me up just to tell me that?"

"Have you come across anything about… uh… angelic possessions?"

"Angel's taking hosts?" Again, that damnably mocking slowness to her question. "Did you even bother to look at the journal I gave you last night or should I have stuck around to read it to you?" She made an annoyed sound before Dean could find a sharp enough answer to that. "Yeah, Dad wrote about it a bit near the middle, after those ninety seals. Something about Angels needing vessels- something, something about one for the Archangel and one for the Devil."

Dean did sit down then. His knees just didn't feel like holding him up any longer and he didn't know why.

"Did you know that the Devil used to be an Archangel before he was cast out of heaven?"

Dean really didn't care about that right now, though he knew he should be making one hell of an attempt because it sounded important. "No shit?"

"I shit you not." She said evenly and Dean found himself imagining the serious line her lips would be making as she frowned at him from wherever she was. "Yeah- the journal I'm working on has all sorts of weird stuff like that in it. It'll probably take me a few more days before I can get through it."

_Hang up_

Dean looked around wildly for a moment.

_Hang up and go back to the others_

There wasn't anyone else in the room with him.

Dean was hearing voices.

Andy was still talking somewhere, but it was just background noise, just a white buzz over the phone, the phone that Dean had dropped. He pushed his hands to his ears, certain that he had not actually heard the voice with them- that it had come from somewhere inside his own head, and for fuck's sake, did that mean he had finally snapped? He was hearing a voice telling him to do things and he was pretty sure that was not a good sign.

_Be not afraid_

The voice rumbled through Dean and he pressed his hands tighter to his ears and closed his eyes. "Get out of my head."

_Go back to the others where you are safe_

There was a pressure building at the base of his neck, intensifying with each word pounding against his skull.

_She will taint you_

_She will taint your actions_

_Go back to the others_

"Get the hell out of my head!"

The door to the room banged opened, another distant noise that did no more than get cataloged away somewhere in the recesses of Dean's mind that felt like they were being pulled apart.

_She uses the truth to lie to you, Dean Winchester_

The voice knew his name. The god damned voice knew his name.

It felt like there was a water balloon inside his skull, and some jackass had left the tap on. He was full to bursting- any second now his head would explode. Dean could imagine it in glorious Technicolor, all blood and gore following a comically loud pop, and that would be all she wrote.

Just POP and that would be the end of him, it would be the end of the crushing pressure.

He looked forward to it.

_Her help is poison_

Dean slid from the chair, sinking to his knees, clutching his head in a desperate attempt to keep the agony at bay. Even with his eyes closed, the lights had grown too bright and he wished that he could shut his mind to the thunderous ringing that shook him to his bones. Dean was sure that he was deaf. He was sure that he was blind. He was sure that he would never move again.

_Go back to the others where you are safe_

"Get out." And this time Dean knew he wasn't yelling. What little pride he retained for just such occasions let him know that he had whimpered out those two words.

The mounting pressure left. It just left, like it had been impatiently waiting for him to beg and then it was just gone. Well, not wholly gone. The residual pain was enough to rival the worst hangover Dean had ever had. He was shaking. He was sweating and he was fairly sure that he had a sudden case of hypothermia.

But the voice was gone.

"Dean!" Someone was yelling at him and even if he couldn't manage to open his eyes he knew without a doubt that it was Sam gripping his shoulders and shaking him. "Are you ok?"

The noise that came out of Dean could have been mistaken for a sob by an untrained ear. "No- no, I'm not fucking _ok_."

"Dean, you're bleeding."

For some reason, Dean found that idea terrifying.

It was a mindless brain-stem terror, the kind that quite simply bypasses rational thought and heads straight for your soul.

And he laughed.

He laughed until he could feel tears slicking his cheeks.

He laughed until the laughter whimpered off into nothing- and that nothing was all he had left.


	17. Chapter 17

People were talking.

Men were talking.

Of this Dean was almost positive.

One of them was Sam. He knew his brother's voice so well, and there was never any question in the owner of ragged words. However, the other voice? That was a bit dodgy. It sounded familiar, but… the world was only just beginning to come back into focus for Dean, just bits and pieces slotting into place in the darkness.

Everything was uneven and disjointed, conflicting senses arguing with one another. Like loose puzzle pieces, only he didn't know what the picture was supposed to be and he wasn't sure all the pieces went to the same puzzle in the first place. He swore he had about five corner pieces and no edges, and wanted to know how he was expected to put together something like this.

From where he lay he could see that there were brown curtains pulled tight against piercingly white light coming from outside. There was a blue blanket beneath him, the threads rough under the skin of his hands, against his cheek … or maybe he was getting this wrong. Maybe the blankets were white and the light was blue… His eyes stung badly and he closed them again.

There was the taste of blood in his mouth, stale and metallic. There was a low ringing in his ears, making the noises that got through to him sound distant and muffled. He was sweating like the middle of a heat wave in July and in the same moment he couldn't remember the last time he felt so cold.

And all he managed to pull out of these firing synapses was the thought that he had been knocked unconscious far too many times in the past few weeks.

"What's he doing now?" Sam's words became more than just familiar dips in tone and nuance, finding meaning.

"Trying to talk to our Father."

"He's praying?" Sam sounded almost amused at the suggestion.

"Looks like it."

"And that's gunna' help Dean?"

"Well, it probably won't make it any worse."

"Thanks- that's _real_ comforting."

And maybe it was comforting, but only a little, and not to Dean.

His bones hurt.

Bones were never meant to hurt- not outside of adolescent growing pains.

And he was way past that point in his life.

A few years back, in some dismal part of Nebraska, Dean had relocated his own shoulder in a motel room. He looked up how on the Internet, largely delirious from agony, and he used a wooden chair with a thin padded seat the color of faded mouthwash. It took him almost two hours; he passed out four times. To that point in his action-packed life, it was the second most painful thing that had ever happened to him.

Dean was demoting that memory to third place.

"So I guess this means I won?" He forced out the words in a way that was meant to sound lighthearted but he knew fell a little short of convincing. His throat was raw and he must sound like Cas; all broken glass and sandpaper mucking up his words.

"You're awake?" Sam's shadow cut a cold spot over Dean and he realized he was shivering though he had no idea how long that had been going on.

"God, I hope not." Dean pried his eyes open and felt a spike of pain lance through his temple. The room was way too fucking bright for his taste and he had suspicions that they had changed the bulbs to two hundred watt while he was out.

"What happened?" And that was just like Sam, asking the dying man questions.

And for whatever it was worth, it was a great question. An amazing question- one that Dean did not have an answer too. He remembered getting doughnuts with Cas, Sam had found _something_… something weird in the journal… Dean remembered talking to Andy on the phone and then… slivers of violence. Images so quick and misplaced that they meant nothing to him. He tried to put together enough of those flashes for a proper memory and all he got was a gutted feeling, a hot slash of pain from groin to throat and he choked on it.

"I don't know." He whispered when he could breathe again. "But I must have won-"

"Won what?"

It surprised Dean to discover that they were on a bed and not the floor, because it sagged under Sam's added weight, the springs screaming in disapproval. It sure didn't feel soft enough to be a bed. Perhaps they should start staying in slightly nicer motels- ones that provided actual mattresses instead of spinal torture devices.

Someone touched the curtains on the other side of the room, admitting a stab of cheerful, bright afternoon sun.

A nausea inducing shiver ran up Dean's spine and settled at the base of his skull. Light was bad, very bad. Sound was almost worse. In a quick reevaluation of his symptoms, Dean decided that he might have a migraine on top of everything else. He had heard of them- they were supposed to hurt like fuck. This sure hurt like fuck.

"Won whatever happened." He closed his eyes and tried to whisper, to see if it would hurt less. "If I feel this bad the other guy _must_ be worse." He managed to communicate with his limbs enough to coax a hand up over his eyes in an attempt to blot out the searing light. "Tell me he's worse."

He didn't answer right away and that was probably a bad sign. If Dean had been able to look at Sam he could have almost certainly read the meaning behind the less than enthusiastic expression that his younger brother was undoubtedly wearing.

"I don't know what happened." Sam finally found the words to start. "I found you on the floor… talking to yourself and bleeding."

"Some son of a bitch must have gotten the drop on me." Dean spoke slowly, choosing his words with care, little ones seemed to hurt less to say. "So stop fussing and find the bastard."

"Just give me a place to start, Dean." And that opened ended threat really sounded like Sam meant it. He was willing to go off on an epic man hunt for no reason other than someone had hurt his brother.

Dean felt himself grinning despite how it made his face ache.

"It is not advised." When Cas spoke it sort of trickled down through Dean, he could feel the words in his chest, the rumbling, low syllables settling along his ribs. The Angel must have been in a chair beside the bed, somewhere up behind Dean's head, much closer than Dean had considered. "The one who did this has an investment in Dean's well being- he doesn't have the same outlook towards you, Sam."

"Some fucking investment." Dean managed to pry his eyes open enough to peek out from between slanted fingers.

Sam looked concerned, and it wasn't that Dean hadn't been expecting to see that exact expression (sometimes he worried it was one of the only ones his brother knew to use in these sorts of situations), but he had not expected it in this particular magnitude. The expression Sam wore was the sort usually reserved for the bedside of dying men.

"Dude, you should see your face." He swallowed the lump of panic down. "I can't be that bad."

The slow, suffering breath made Sam's chest rise and fall like a mountain shifting restlessly. The younger Winchester schooled his expression into something more neutral, his poker face that Dean had been able to see through for years. He tried a smile, and it never had a chance of reaching his eyes.

"You look like death warmed over."

Dean grinned and felt like he might throw up. "You're looking pretty hot yourself." He made a move to sit up and immediately changed his mind. "Is all that blood mine, or did you gut a pig while I was out?"

Sam looked away from Dean's face to examine his own hands. It wasn't nearly as bad as Dean made it sound, there had obviously been an attempt to clean up and only little brown crescents of blood around Sam's fingernails and the dark stains around his elbows belayed any sign of what had happened.

"Let's just say it's a good thing we didn't have to put a deposit on these rooms- because there is no way we'd be getting it back now."

"Yeah." Gabriel chimed in from the other side of the room in an inappropriately cheerful manner. "There's this big Winchester shaped stain on the carpet now." And it was the other voice, the one that had been talking to Sam while Dean was grappling with unconsciousness.

Dean thought that he might actually dislike Gabriel- but now was not a good time to let Sam know that he had crap taste in men. Such big-brotherly advice could wait.

"Awesome. I wish I'd been awake for it." He covered his eyes again more thoroughly. "I always wanted to make a blood-angel.

"That is not a thing, Dean." Castiel assured him softly from his perch nearby. And despite the fact that Dean was fairly certain he was in shock and had some sort of head trauma. The sound of the Angel's voice did funny things to him- it sent prickles up his arms and made the knot in his stomach lessen considerably. He wanted to wrap himself in that voice until the pain receded and he felt human again.

"Sure it is, Cas. Just like a snow-angel, only redder."

"I don't think I understand your reference." One of his warm hands touched Dean's arm and it was perfection in centimeters.

"Dean-" Sam cut in before his brother could try to educate Cas on the finer points of snow frolic-ry. "I know you get like this when things get bad, but you really need to try and focus. Whoever did this is still out there and they might come back."

And Sam was right, like always. Damn him.

If an injury was minor, Dean would make a point to whine and mope about it, complain nonstop and force Sam to do things for him out of guilt, pity or annoyance. It was when Dean refused to acknowledge the injury or started making jokes about it- that's when Sam knew it was bad. When Dean did everything he could to draw attention away from what was wrong, that was when it was time to worry.

Sometimes Dean hated how well they knew each other.

It made it much harder to get away with diversion tactics when the other guy knew all your tricks.

"So what's the plan, Sammy?" Dean held out an arm, an unspoken request for help in sitting, which was another bad sign on its own, but Dean was doing his best to not keep a running tally.

Sam gripped his arm and pulled him upright without a word, not even commenting on the grunt of pain that hardly masked the suffering noise that escaped Dean.

"You've got to remember something." Sam urged, somehow sounding as if he belied himself. "Something for us to go on."

Dean closed his eyes with the excuse that it would help him think more clearly- and not at all because the room was spinning.

"It will be unlikely that he has retained any memory of the event." Cas said sensibly, as if no one could really expect Dean to have any recollection of what felt like a blunt force injury to his skull. "His mind will most likely try to protect itself, to block out what happened."

It was such a strange way to explain things- like they all already knew what happened (aside from Dean), like Cas was chiding Sam about bringing it up. Dean carefully opened his eyes and tried to look over his shoulder without falling over and mostly succeeded by having to push his hands down into the mattress for support.

Cas was indeed sitting beside the bed, one of the room's wooden chairs pulled into the corner and the sight of him summoned up all sorts of bad ideas in Dean mind. The Angel had that sickly pale color again, the one that made his dark eyes stand out like burn marks. There was a smear of dried blood under his nose and curling over the edge of his upper lip, almost casually, like a vulgar fashion statement.

"What happened to you?" Dean felt anger, hot and caustic, chasing away those last few shivers that had been left to run unattended through his body. Something had happened, and Cas was hurt and that made Dean angry in strange, new ways.

"Don't!" Sam was on his feet and taking a hurried step towards the Angel who had opened his mouth to speak. "Just don't." The hunter urged, holding up his hands like he was trying to sooth a startled animal.

Which was not a bad comparison, as that was precisely what Cas looked like right then, his eyes gone a little wide and glassy with shock and something else.

"Jesus, Dean. Don't get him started again." Sam sank back down to the bed, looking anxiously at Cas where he sat, poised on the edge of his chair.

"The fuck is going on now?" Dean demanded. He felt he was in the current position to make demands. The world owed him something right now and an explanation was a good place to start.

Sam rubbed at his eyes, long fingers slipping over the bridge of his nose. "You were… hysterical when I found you, shock or delirium or… Fuck, Dean, I'm not a doctor- but you were in it in a bad way and your boyfriend tried to fix you."

"Fix me?" Dean looked back to Cas with worry and a hint of anxiety, choosing to ignore the fact that apparently the Angel and him were now officially a couple.

"I stopped the bleeding." Cas answered in way of clarification, just as calm as you please.

Gabriel took that moment to join their conversation, coming to lean against the wall beside his brother, closing the awkward circle of bodies. "Then when Sam asked what happened the little Einstein tried to explain it to us." He flicked some hair from his eyes and his smile looked tired. "The spontaneous nose bleed and following seizure sort of cleared up what he was trying to say."

"I believe if I am able to find the right words they will not trigger an adverse reaction." And Dean didn't know Cas well enough to be sure, but he sounded a little guilty. Like he blamed himself for the painful onslaughts of internal bleeding anytime he tried to talk about why he was Graceless and stuck on Earth, or Michael.

And regardless of the many unfavorable things that could be said about Dean Winchester- he wasn't an idiot, at least not when it mattered.

He pressed his hands back over his face, hiding like it might somehow help. "And if he had one of his fits it means that whatever happened to me had to do with…" He let the unfinished thought just stagnate in the air. He didn't need to finish it; they all knew what he meant without him suffering to find a title for his problems.

In a way it was a comfort.

It meant that there was no new baddie joining this late in the game.

Small miracles.

If Dean believe in such things.

"But you already knew that." He accused softly, looking over at Sam. "So why ask me?"

"Because Cassy can't talk about it and you're the only one else who might have a clue as to what's going on." Gabriel rolled his eyes in annoyance, as if the answer was obvious. "I've got some idea what Michael might have up his sleeve but mum's the word until I know for sure."

"You're so damn helpful." Dean grumbled. "What would we do without all your insight and advice? I'm real glad Sammy brought you along."

Gabriel only grinned at Dean. "Look, Deano, I've got some serious restraints leaning on what's left of my mojo. If I start running my mouth it's gunna' make what keeps happening to Cassy look like a lucky break. I'm doing the best I can here to stay under the radar and still help you mutton heads- but if Michael is planning what I think he is I recommend you just try and get the fuck out of Dodge and wait for it to blow over."

"Is that what you're planning to do?" Cas cut in before Dean could explain that nothing would make him happier than throwing his hands up and leaving all this, but he had not exactly been given a choice.

"Damn straight. I'm not letting Michael drag me into another one of his games of cowboys and Indians."

"And where will you abandon us for this time, Gabriel?"

Cas spoke so softly Dean thought he might have imagined it, but the blonde Angel stiffened and made a point to look out the window at the parking lot that had suddenly become so very interesting.

"You've already forsaken Heaven. If you flee here as well, where else do you have to go?" When Gabriel didn't answer Cas made a frustrated noise that sounded like it must have hurt. "You are supposed to be an Archangel. You were supposed to fight alongside us and when we needed you most you deserted us. The end of mankind is nigh and you would do the same to them. You would leave them to their destruction just as you left your family."

"This is not the same thing, Cassy." Gabriel was still looking out the window but there was something decidedly defeated in the slump of his shoulders.

"Our brothers will lay waste to this world and every lovely creation that inhabits it just to fuel their petty dispute. And you would _let_ them." It was such a bitter accusation, like Castiel could think of no greater insult. "You can't remain neutral forever, Gabriel. You can't keep running. You must pick a side."

"Like you did?" Gabriel finally turned around, and for the first time since meeting him, Dean saw anger in the smaller Angel, and it was something horrible to behold. It wasn't loud or brash like every other thing that he did. It was something quiet and corrosive, malice just below the surface, dancing in his bright eyes, making his small frame tremble slightly. "Should I beg our absent Father for his forgiveness and return to the fold? Should I join Michael and his crusade like you chose to do? How well is that working out for you? Are you still feeling good about following his orders? Tell me, Castiel. Oh great and wise, faithful little soldier that you are- please tell me what I should do."

The Winchesters sat in the silence that followed, stuck somewhere between the two Angels and their combined fury that made the air prickle with life and destruction.

And Dean felt something close to disappointment when Castiel was the first to flinch.

The younger Angel looked down at his hands, his fists that were shaking against his sides. He spoke softly in his surrender, backing away from the argument. "We each make our own choices and it is not my place to question yours. I apologize."

The tension in the room lessened in stages and Dean released the breath he did not know he had been holding.

Gabriel sort of deflated too, offering a lopsided smile. "Forget about it, Cassy. Now's not a good time to drag the skeletons from the closet anyways." Like that, it was all over, shoved under the rug and forgotten about. They were all just supposed to pretend that Castiel had not just furtively called his older brother a traitor. The act of which seemed either an incredibly brave or foolish thing to do to an Archangel, at least in Dean's eyes.

But maybe there was a cunning streak somewhere inside Cas, deep down and well hidden under layers of unassuming Angelic coating- or maybe he just naturally had an ability to get off stellar parting shots. "I merely thought that in the face of Lucifer's intent to tear Sam's soul apart you would want to denounce your neutral standing on our brother's war. I will not bring it up again in the future."

A few things happened at once.

Sam made an interesting noise and for the first time in his life seemed honestly at a loss for words.

Gabriel's golden eyes went startlingly wide; his thin eyebrows creeping up towards his hairline and his jaw went slack in an expression of shock so comical it would have been funny in almost any other situation.

Dean could honestly feel his brain shutting down, refusing to compute the thing that had just been said.

And Castiel… Castiel was smiling. A big, open, proud smile that was so painfully out of place it was jarring, and honestly, a little scary.

Before anyone could find words, Cas spoke up again, starting with one of his strange little laughs. "I'm not bleeding."

"Fuck, Cas." Dean wasn't even aware he was forming the words. They were just there, spilling from his mouth.

"I told you," the Angel sounded excited. "If I found the right words I would remain uninjured when I spoke them. I told you."

A silent moment seemed to skip by, mocking them.

"But Michael can't be that stupid." Gabriel said suddenly, like he had skipped forward a few pages in the script. "He would have to- but it's suicidal. I was expecting him to just pull some of his flaming sword, spreading judgment in Gehenna bullshit on all the sinful humans. But no- He's throwing himself into the lion's den just for… for what? It's a war he can't expect to win. He has to see that."

Somehow Castiel managed to follow the onslaught of words and was teetering on the edge of his seat, his eyes flicking about quickly, like he was searching the room for more of these magical words that he could use without fear of retaliation. "When Lucifer rises and takes a host… surely that would be enough of a violation to draw our Father's attention."

"It's enough to do a hell of a lot more than that." Gabriel dragged a hand through his hair, getting the same look of concentration on his face.

Dean slowly looked over at Sam- the two of them were being ignored anyhow.

The news of Sam's soul suddenly in jeopardy did not look to have gone over well and the younger hunter looked pallid. He was blinking more often than necessary, looking lost and that was enough for Dean.

"Will you two shut the fuck up for a second?" He spoke louder than he had intended and he coughed, feeling the warm slick of blood between his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

The Angels stopped their excited conversation of doom and gloom and looked over as if they had truly forgotten that there was anyone else in the room.

Now, as unfortunate as it sounded, Dean had started to become a little accustomed to the fact that he was well on his way to being sucked up into an apocalypse and damned eight ways to Sunday. Sam was a little newer to this level of complete and utter unfairness and he was not being given the proper adjustment time necessary. He would find his footing. He would get back up to speed once he finished processing the fact that apparently fate, or the universe at large, or whoever was in charge up there honestly hated him. He just needed a little breathing room.

"You alright there, Sammy?" Dean reached out and touched his brother's shoulder, aiming to get his attention.

Sam looked like he had strayed far off the path, somehow managing to appear utterly alone despite being surrounded. "What would the Devil want my soul…" Sam couldn't finish it, and it wasn't that he was afraid. Dean knew Sam's scared face. Sam was honestly just confused; baffled that anyone would assume value enough in him to take an interest- somehow overlooking the whole demon blood and psychic children army debacle with Azazel not too long ago.

"He doesn't want your soul." Cas explained easily, seeming to still be taking great joy at his new found ability to talk. "He wants your body."

"Ok." Sam licked his lips, struggling to compute this information. "That actually sounds worse somehow. Thanks."

"Aw, don't worry, Samsquatch." The excitement was melting away as Gabriel came back to the reality of the room that they were all in and the slightly devastated expression his boyfriend wore. "I won't let Lucy give you the bad touch."

"You shouldn't call him that, he doesn't like it." Cas advised gently.

"I don't mind it as much as you'd think." Sam almost smiled at Cas, trying to calm his own nerves.

"Not _you_. Lucifer. He doesn't like being called 'Lucy'."

And Dean laughed, because Devil or not, it's hard to be a scary son of a bitch if your name's _Lucy._

.:.

Sam left with Gabriel, presumably to get pizza for everyone and some pills for Dean- though Dean had his suspicions that they had run off to talk about everything that was going on, and damn it if he didn't feel like he was being left in the dark. But as long as someone filled him in when they got back, he could forgive them. And in all honestly, he was grateful for the quiet that ensued once they were out of the room.

His head was still splitting. It hurt to look at things for too long and he was starting to wonder if his left knee had been dislocated and not reset- because it sure felt like it had. He managed to stay sitting on the bed, his legs stretched out beneath the blanket that he tossed aside despite the cold he still felt. He couldn't work with the flimsy thing in the way.

"Do you need something?" Cas rose from his chair to hover over Dean like an anxious mother.

It took a two second assessment of the joint to confirm Dean's suspicions and he braced himself. "Nah, I got this." He curled his fingers around the loose ball of his knee and pulled it back into place with a moist thunk.

Relocating a knee was by no means a pleasant activity- it had been out of place long enough that fluid had started to fill the joint and it was stiff and swollen. However, in the face of the looming misery fogging the rest of Dean's body… it really didn't hurt all that bad. It was important to keep things like this in perspective. Knees weren't such a big deal where you were fairly sure that you were bleeding internally.

Dean lay back down and wished that he had a way to clear his thoughts, to remove the bitter and squirming bits of conversation that were determined to keep him from happily wallowing in self pity at the throbbing pain that showed no signs of leaving any time today. He wanted to ask Cas what was going on, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't get much out of him, at least nothing too helpful. Also, he really just didn't want to have to deal with this kind of crap right now.

He never got a day off.

Dean just wanted one day where he could just relax and not worry about the end of the world, or the Devil, or ghosts, or vampires. Just one day to himself. He would probably go to California, visit the ocean, nap in the sun and check out those blond, curvaceous beach bunnies. Or maybe he would just stay wherever he was and sleep for a whole day, waking only to order take out and maybe watching some Pay-per-view.

Was that too much to ask?

Probably.

He closed his eyes and listened to Cas settle back down into his chair.

The pain was enough to keep Dean from drifting off to sleep, so he lay there with his eyes closed and tried not to think to hard about things.

"I am sorry."

Dean didn't bother looking over, he just sighed softly. "Is'not your fault, Cas."

The Angel made a noise and it said more than a whole speech could have. More than a whole library had any chance at every saying.

It _was_ his fault- or at the very least he thought it was.

Though what exactly he was blaming himself for was a bit of a mystery.

Dean turned his head to face Cas, opening his eyes and really looking at the Angel sitting beside him.

Could this really be the same individual that had fallen out of the sky and wrecked his car? Was this the same wild eyed thing that bled on him and his backseat? The same man who had escaped a handful of demons after being held captive for a year… who had killed or banished a handful of Fallen Angels… who had tried to protect Dean from Sam even when he was so broken he could hardly keep himself upright…?

It was hard to tell, that night felt like a lifetime ago and the man beside him showed only the faintest shadows of that fateful encounter. There had been a strength in that feral creature that Dean had found… or that had found Dean on the road in the middle of the night.

There was no fight left in those beautiful blue eyes that captivated Dean so fully.

Now the Angel just looked uncertain.

Cas looked as doubtful as Dean had felt since meeting him and it didn't leave the hunter with many options for what to do next.

"Com'ere." Dean held a hand out and Cas did not take it but abandoned his chair to perch tentatively on the edge of the bed. "Now," Dean started- cautiously venturing into the forbidden land of touchy-feely conversations. "Can you tell me what you're sorry about without bleeding all over us?"

"I'm sorry I could not be stronger."

"That's not really something that you can control, Cas."

"I was weak and I have sinned greatly since my fall."

Dean was developing a bad feeling in his stomach that was threatening to roll up and out his mouth. "I'm not a priest; you don't have to confess any sins to me."

"There is to be a war, Dean. A war fought not just in heaven, but here on Earth and in the deepest pits of hell… and I … I have lost my faith in our cause." Cas looked down at where Dean's hand still lay open on the bed between them. "I question if I ever had any to begin with."

"You don't need to apologize to me- or anyone for that, Cas."

The Angel reached out to him, trailing their finger tips together, feather light and then gone like a dream. "I have-" His eyes suddenly dimmed and he made a pained noise before pushing forward. "I have escorted you to your own destruction. You have trusted me and I-" He folded in on himself slightly, his arms clutching at his stomach and biting off whatever ending would never make it to the end of that sentence.

Dean found the strength to sit up (mostly) and grab the Angel's shoulder. "Stop it." And he didn't know if he meant the uninvited confession that was killing a part of Dean, or the obvious pain that Cas was putting himself in by trying to continue said confession. Maybe it was both.

He let his hand slide over Cas' back, smoothing down his shoulder blades and the almost indiscernible ridge of his spine. Cas shuttered against the touch.

"Today's been shit for everyone. We'll figure this out tomorrow." They could try at least, Dean didn't know if any of this was going to turn out well or make any kind of sense any time soon… but they could try.

Cas looked up at him, a dark trickle of blood peeking from the edge of his lips and he looked stricken at the suggestion.

"It's ok." And maybe that was the world's biggest lie. Being lead to his destruction was about as far from _ok_ as you could really get… but he trusted Cas. He didn't know why, and to be honest, that trust felt a bit shaken- but despite the words being told to him, Dean had not witnessed a single wrong committed by the Angel, so it was a bit hard to get as worked up as he knew that he should be.

He had meant it when he said that today was complete shit.

The only solution for it would be to wait until it blew itself over.

They could try again tomorrow.

Tomorrow Dean would have a hefty dose of pain killers in his system and even if he could not think clear enough to puzzle his way through all the information being thrown at him, he knew that Sam had a good head on his shoulders and would be ready for the challenge. Between the two of them they could piece together what Cas could not tell him. The potential of a revelation of that sort kind of scared Dean, but he had become desensitized to the feeling years ago.

He gently wiped the blood from Cas' face, staining his own fingers and not giving a good god damn about it. He let his hand fall back onto the mattress, what strength he had left starting to fail in favor of just drowning in pain.

Cas watched him for a span of heartbeats then lowered himself to the bed beside Dean, laying down and stretching out until their toes touched. Dean folded his hands over his stomach, getting his arms out of the way and making more room on the narrow mattress.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"Damn it, Cas. Not again." Dean honestly didn't have it in him to keep this up much longer.

"I am sorry for forgetting that you have been through much today. I shouldn't trouble you with my worries and shortcomings."

"_Shortcomings?_" The word sounded funny for some reason.

Cas did not answer, but he did close the distance between them and kiss Dean's forehead in a way that was positively tender. "In one of the programs I watched on the television I was informed that when someone is injured kissing the hurt area will help to lessen the pain."

Dean grew quiet as he processed this and felt himself smile. "I've heard that too."

"Where can I help you?" The Angel leaned over him again, hesitating with his lips just above Dean's, waiting for direction.

Sure, Dean felt a bit like he was dying, but he wasn't dead yet.

Cas took his job very seriously, ministering to all the mumbled directions that Dean managed to give, only to eventually surrender to the action as they both knew that they would. They curled around each other and ignored pain as best as they could in favor of slow, poignant kisses that lasted long enough to leave them both gasping for breath before coming back together as if they were starved for the touch.

Unfortunately their brothers did return with the promised food- and this was only unfortunate because their timing coincided with Dean getting up the strength and courage to get a firm grasp of Castiel's backside and firmly pull their hips together. And if the debauched noise the Angel made in response was any indication at all, he did not mind the unexpected friction between them.

"Well, they sure look like they're feeling better." Gabriel said loud enough that Dean jumped. "I told you not to worry about him, Sam."

"You should have locked the door, Dean. I'd rather not go blind." Sam half tease as he set the pizza box down on top of the TV, quietly averting his gaze from the bed.

"Cas, hey… pizza. You'll like pizza." Dean made promises, sort of a consolation to them having to stop when obviously it was one of the things furthest from Cas' mind right then.

Inadvertently, Dean had committed a very dangerous act. He had taught Castiel how to roll his hips, and the very fact that they were no longer alone in the room seemed to carry no weight whatsoever in the scheme of things.

With both his hands tucked firmly into Dean's back pockets, holding him in place, and one of his knees slotted between Dean's, the sudden rocking motion was astoundingly stunning enough to drag a groan from the hunter, layers of denim between them be damned.

Cas just gasped, his breath in tatters and he was seemingly frozen in place, so still beside Dean, his eyes closed tight, teeth digging into his lower lip. Dean's mouth had gone dry and all he could hear was their mingling breaths and his own heart pounding in his ears.

If all the things in the world worthy of being called good were placed into a list, that ragged, dry grind of hips deserved a place at the very top.

Dean really wanted to ask Cas if he was ok, because freezing was not precisely what one would classify as a normal response to rubbing up against another dude- or maybe it was… Dean was not an expert in these sorts of situations- he never claimed to be.

Apparently he had broken the Angel, they had gone a little too far and even if Dean's brain was screaming that they weren't alone and now was the ideal time to disengage in order to save any lingering shreds of dignity- he couldn't just leave his friend like this.

"Cas?" He tried and was only mildly startled by his own rough voice which sent a delightful shiver through the man clinging to him. "Cas, you still with me?" He rolled Castiel gently, lowering him to his back, settling him into the mattress and trying not to laugh.

And that's about when Cas made a noise that was neither a yes or a no and he dragged Dean down into a ravenous sort of kiss, all teeth and tongue and unmasked need. Subsequently, Dean momentarily lost the ability to think clearly- though he was distantly aware of Sam making disapproving noises and Gabriel laughing loudly.

Through brute strength of will alone Dean managed to pry himself off of Cas and sit up, though the dizziness he was trying to ignore was almost enough to lay him back down, everything glinting white and hazy before sliding back into color. He looked down at Cas and grinned before making himself look away.

"Sammy, you didn't get one of those hippy, California veggie pizzas, right?"

Sam had his back to Dean and was holding Gabriel out of sight, which wasn't difficult to do considering their dramatic height differences. "Only half of it."

"Good. That rabbit food just isn't suitable for real men."

"Did you just use the word _suitable_?" Sam risked looking over his shoulder and he visibly relaxed upon seeing that all the excitement was over.

"Hey, after all those damn PBS programs you made me watch over the years some of it was bound to rub off."

Sam sighed in a long suffering way and opened the box, handing over a slice of four kinds of meat that were hiding a small bit of pizza and cheese.

"Speaking of rubbing off," Gabe peeked around his giant of a boyfriend. "Did you break my brother? He's awful quiet over there." There was a hint of amusement, but under that, Dean could see a bit of worry, maybe even a touch of anger. Some people just don't like to admit that they are protective about their family.

Dean risked looking over at Cas, who was quietly petting his leg, though Dean was making a feeble attempt at ignoring the contact. "You ok? Want some food?"

"I think I am in need of a shower." Came an answer paired with some intensely inappropriate bedroom eyes.

Dean felt heat rise in his cheeks and he tried to push the fluttering in his chest down. "You're going to have to learn how to calm yourself down, Cas. You can't always just go to the shower."

"But my pants are sticky." Cas somehow managed to say some of the most inappropriate things Dean had ever heard with the straightest face.

Gabriel was laughing again and Sam put his slice of pizza down, wiping his hands on his jeans, and making a face that said he had lost part of his appetite.

"Go take your shower- I'll save you a slice." Dean was proud of stoic he was able to keep himself all the while watching Cas pull himself off the bed and walk unsteadily to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Dean tried to take another bite of pizza, but found he was grinning too much to manage. So he chuckled instead and struggled with how to feel about all of this.

The shower started up and Dean found himself just smiling and shaking his head. The pain from earlier was coming back in waves, making it almost hard to breathe for a beat or two, but it wasn't as bad as before and he wondered how much of it was psychological and how much was _actual_ injury. He was still missing a chunk of time and had no idea what happened in it other than bad things. It was possible that his body felt a need to try and fill in the gap with raw nerve endings and inexcusably fierce pain.

"You don't even have the dignity to be embarrassed about all this, do you?" Sam looked plaintively at Dean, disappointment and a very personal level of embarrassment all his own at the fact he had accidently witnessed Dean and Cas being so flagrantly indelicate only a few feet away.

"Embarrassed? Dude, I should beat your ass for interrupting us. I just don't because I'm classy." Dean took a big bite of pizza, cheese pulling thin and snapping off to dangle down his chin.

"Classy. Right. Take your pills, you classy pervert." Sam tossed a prescription bottle onto the bed beside Dean with a rattle. Dean didn't ask exactly how Sam had managed to get a bottle prescribed for a one 'Arthur Miggenby' all that mattered was that the dosage said six hundred milligrams of Darvocet.

"Damn, Sammy. You got me the good stuff." He shook out two pills but hesitated to swallow them down. "Hey… I'm not going to be more open to… you know… being possessed and shit if I'm strung out on pain killers, am I?"

Sam looked at Gabriel for an answer and the blonde shrugged, shoving a piece of crust into his mouth and chewing twice before speaking. "It's possible- but with Angels taking a host it's got a lot more to do with permission than consciousness." He chewed a bit more and swallowed. "So as long as you don't go around offering your body out for joyrides to strange men we should be fine."

Dean made a face and downed the pills. They left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he had always been under the impression that the god-awful flavor was how you knew it was working. He finished his slice of pizza and annoyed Sam into fetching him seconds. He was most of the way through, little rivulets of orange grease slicking his fingertips, when a thought dawned on him.

"If he needs permission then how come he took me out back in Absarokee? I sure as hell didn't give him the go-ahead."

Gabriel's mouth quirked into that little smirk of his and Dean recognized it for what it really. On anyone else it would have been a hint of mischievousness or humor, but not on Gabriel. It meant that he knew something, something he wasn't necessarily happy to know but none the less he was strangely amused that you didn't.

"You're killing me, Winchester. Have you even been paying attention?" He shook his head, eyes shining with barely restrained laughter. "Michael's not the only one trying to get into your body. He's just the one who came asking for a ride this morning."

"Excuse me?"

"You've got a second hitchhiker… someone from a bit further South than Michael. Not right now mind you- but he's been around. He comes and goes. He's the one that gets Cassy so upset."

And Dean remembered that well enough (it was hard to forget two separate Angel's trying to exorcise you) and the fact that he may had the chance to get possessed by something other than an Archangel made him feel infinitely dirty and he didn't know what the difference was. It was a bad situation any way you looked at it.

"Wait a damn second- I can't get taken by a demon." He pulled down the collar of his shirt, showing the anti-possession tattoo over his heart. "They can't get in with this on me."

"I didn't say it was a demon, Deano."

He had had his fill of this. "Jesus Christ. Could you be any more cryptic? I'm not up to beating the information out of you, you little jerk. So you're just gunna' have to be more open with me until the pills kick in."

"Denarian." Gabriel stole Sam's crust casually. "Not sure exactly which one, but honestly, how Cassy can keep sucking face with you without gagging just shows how bad he's got it. You smell like cancer and orphans and betrayal."

"Are you serious?" Orphans had a specific smell? Dean was willing to believe many things. That was not one of them.

Gabriel made a solemn cross over his hear with his pilfered crust before taking a bite. "Though the Fallen also technically need permission to hop in- So I think at this point they're just circling you, waiting for you to give one of them an ok."

"I didn't give anyone an ok the _first_ time."

"One of them took you for a ride back in Absarokee and they can't get in if you don't say 'take me, I'm yours'. Suck it up, Deano. So you had an Angel all up inside you and it wasn't Castiel. What's done is done. No sense whining about it now."

If Dean had the strength he would have been up off the bed and throttling Gabriel. Not that it would have helped the situation, but it would have made him feel much better.

"I didn't tell anyone they could take me anywhere."

"Hey, cool your jets now. Angels, Fallen or otherwise aren't exactly known to come right out and say 'can I thrash your soul and steal your body for a few decades until it falls apart'. It's not our style. We like to trick people into giving up their bodies… which is basically what Michael is planning to do if he gets a hold of you. Someone pulled the wool over your eyes. I'm sure even the great Dean Winchester can be gullible sometimes." Gabe smiled and lowered himself to Sam's lap, looking amused, but very tired at the same time. "So again, don't give rides to strangers and you should be ok."

Dean lay back on the bed, finding an angle where he wouldn't have to look at Gabriel or the unusually quiet Sam. "So what does Michael look like so I can shoot him in the face if he comes asking around?"

"I think he plans for you to be his vessel." Sam offered quietly. "So for the time being he doesn't exactly have a body of his own."

When he lifted his head it was just in time to see Sam's little shrug. "It was in the journal you gave me. Don't look at me like that, Dean. Apparently the Devil himself wants me, so I think I've got it a bit worse than you."

"I told you, Sam." Gabriel leaned his head against Sam's shoulder. "I won't let Lucy get his paws on you. I don't like to share."

The bathroom door swung open and Cas emerged, quite naked and still a bit wet, and he went to Dean's bag to riffle through for clothes to wear. "He cannot take you as a vessel, Sam, if he cannot get out of hell."

Dean was unsure if he should look away or if he was allowed to stare, as such he ended up with incredibly shifty eyes and fairly tight pants. Never in his life had he had this sort of physical reaction to another dude. Typically there was just a mild 'gross' factor, or a mental comparison to see how he measured up. It wasn't like him to get hot and bothered at a bare man-ass or a glimpse of pale hip and thigh (which was all Dean actually got), but it certainly did something for him right then, whether he wanted it to or not. Which he found he was oddly ok with, but only because it was Cas. Not all dudes. Just Cas. He was ok with being Castiel-sexual.

And Gabriel just had to ruin it all by laughing and saying, "Cassy, get dressed. You're upsetting the humans."

It sort of cemented in Dean's mind how much he really didn't like Gabriel.

"Sorry. Human bodies are quite awkward to look at. I forget." And Cas took Dean's bag with him back to the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Dean lay there trying to think of the perfect insult for the blonde but he was having a hard time coming up with the right words.

"How you feeling, Dean?" Sam called out to him and sounded strangely far away.

Upon blinking and looking over at his brother Dean was startled to see that Gabriel was gone and the bathroom was quiet open and empty. Sam had the battered little journal open on the table beside his laptop and he gave Dean a knowing little smile.

"I'm… ok." He said carefully, confused to realize how true it was. He was hazy, but it was like the pain had receded behind breakers. It was still there but it couldn't get at him in anyway other than on the tall peaks of distant waves. "Did I fall asleep?"

Sam's chuckle was warm and welcome. "Yeah. You've been out for a few hours."

"Did I miss anything good?"

"Gabe and Cas got into another fight and then went out for ice cream."

"What were they fighting about this time?" Dean was still trying to get his bearings. It looked dark on the other side of the curtains and the bedside clock read eight-fifty-three. He had been out for a while.

"Gabe thinks the best way to avoid either you or me getting taken as a new suit for his big brothers is for us to hole up somewhere and just wait for it to blow over. He said that if Michael can't get at you he'll have to just find someone else or think up a new plan that doesn't involve releasing Lucifer from hell.

"Cas managed to get out that apparently no one has heard from their Dad in a few thousand years and this plan seems to be a last ditch effort on heaven's part to bring him home. He made it sound like they didn't have any other options on the table and weren't exactly looking like they wanted to back down from their apocalypse party." He pinched the bridge of his nose with an index finger and thumb. "Then they started arguing about whether or not you were righteous enough to be a vessel for an Archangel in the first place. There was something about a Cain and Abel parallel and Cas said that just because I have a corruptible look about me doesn't mean that you have to be the 'righteous man' that Michael needs."

"He's brought that up to me before actually. I think it's your hair cut, makes you look shady."

"I just don't think he likes me too much." Sam sighed and closed the window on his laptop screen. "It sort of went downhill from there and I got a bit lost- then they stopped talking in English all together- and then there was shoving and some yelling and after I managed to calm them down Gabriel decided that ice cream was in order to 'patch the brotherly rift' as he called it."

"Dude, you're boyfriend is weird… and a bit of an asshole."

And much to his surprise, Sam didn't argue or get offended; instead he just sort of shrugged and smiled. "He grows on you after a while." He glanced at his laptop and got a little frown between his eyes. "Besides, he's not any stranger than the one you picked."

"Cas just hasn't gotten the hang of being human yet. He's getting there. It takes time." Dean surprised himself by getting to his feet without falling flat on his face. He walked carefully to the bathroom, trying not to put too much weight on his knee, and got a drink of water from the sink. "Besides, I bet you once he figures out what he's doing that he's not half as much of a total prick as your boyfriend." He sat himself back down on his bed, but didn't lay back. He was feeling strangely antsy and wanted to be upright at least.

"Dean… are you sure about Cas?"

It was a conversation that Dean was overly aware of, looming in his near future, but he was swimming in a medication fog and really wasn't interested in talking this one out. Not now, not ever. "Out of everything you find out today, that's what you wanna' hone in on?"

"I think I can honestly say it's been the most disturbing discovery today."

"Homophobe." Dean snarked.

The look Sam gave him was exasperated at best. "Not hardly. I just… he's up to something. He was sent here for a reason and I think it has everything to do with you and nothing to do with any promise he made to Dad."

Dean _really_ wasn't in a mood to talk about John and what he may or may not have been doing after death. Or any promises he may or may not have made any Angels make concerning his boys.

"Drop it, Sammy."

"Dean, I'm worried about you. You don't have _relationships_… ever. It's just not part of you, or your lifestyle and don't start- because it wasn't part of mine either. Hunting doesn't exactly encourage a stable dating life. But I knew what I was getting myself in for when I got involved with Gabe. Now you're getting all moony eyed with Castiel and you've only known him a month. If you two were just having sex I could understand- I've always had my suspicions you might be interested in guys-"

"Fuck you too, Sam."

"But you… I've never seen you look at someone like that. And I met Cassie. I saw the two of you together and it wasn't -"

"Don't bring her into this." Dean was starting to surface from the medication, sure he was dragging the grating pain in his skull up with him, but he couldn't just sit there and take this kind of talk without being fully awake and defending himself.

"You love him, whether or not you know it yet. And I don't know about you, but it's freaking me out, Dean."

"Drop it."

"I'm not saying he's not adorable in a weird way- and I wanna' be happy for you, because god knows you deserve to be happy at some point in your life… except this isn't like you."

"I said drop it."

They watched each other and Sam blinked first.

"I'm just worried you don't know what you're doing and I'm worried what he plans to do with you."

"With any luck it will be something you normally have to pay through the teeth for, and if that luck holds out it will be something you won't walk in on and screw up for me like you've been doing all day."

"I'm not talking about sex, Dean and you know it."

Metallica started playing right then, distantly and with an electronic flavor to it. It was Dean's cell and he had never been so relieved to hear it ringing. He pushed himself off the bed and just walked away from Sam, to the adjoining room and its newly bloodstained floor. Dean found his phone sort of half hidden under the hang of one of the bed blankets and the leaning down to retrieve it made him dizzy in all kinds of bad ways. He flipped the phone open and sat himself down on the foot of the closest bed, holding his head in his hands.

"Yeah?"

"Winchester." Andy's soft, feminine voice came down the line with a note of relief in it. "I've been trying to get a hold of you all day. What happened?"

"What d'ya mean?" He wished he had taken a few more pills on waking. His head was starting to pound, steady and ringing like a hammer fall.

"I was on the phone with you and then suddenly all I get is a lot of people yelling and a dial tone. I thought maybe it was a police bust or the Camanches got you or something." She sighed. "I know it's not my place to tell you what's what, but you scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry." And he didn't know why he was apologizing. "Some stuff happened." He was sure that was possibly the vaguest answer he could give, but it honestly wasn't something he wanted to share, much less knew what had happened anyways– as the last thing he remembered was taking to her in the first place. That thought made him a little nervous and he managed to get up and go back to the other room. If something weird happened again he wanted a witness if not a gunman. Sam would have to do.

"Ok… Well, I guess you're alright if you're answering your phone." He could hear her shuffling things about, the dry scrape of paper and soft rustling sounds just barely audible over the phone. "I found something this afternoon that might interest you. I mean, I'm not done with the next book or anything yet, and I don't really know what your brother is looking for in these things, but it sounded important."

Dean shook two more pills from the little brown bottle and swallowed them, waiting for Andy to keep talking.

"My dad- he started writing about meeting an Angel. It came to him in a dream years ago and… I mean- a _real_ Angel- you get that? At least that's what he said it was. And I know you say you've got one or two hanging around, but it's still a bit hard to swallow, ya know?"

Dean grunted that he did know. It had been over a year since he first heard rumors of the things and even now the idea that they could be real was still very alien, despite everything he had seen and experienced and touched. "Why would an Angel come down and talk to your dad? They aren't exactly chatty group of guys." The ones he knew happened to specialize in not telling him just what the hell was going on.

"It seems that my dad was just supposed to write it all down. The Angel didn't tell him why, just to write. I think it was supposed to be a record given to someone else when the time came." There was a weight to those words like perhaps she thought that this might be that time.

"That's sounds like something they might do. They seem big on using people and not telling them why." He tried not to read too much into his own words because he knew he was one of those people being lead about and it remained a matter of contention for him.

"You make them sound manipulative. Aren't they supposed to be nice?"

"Some are, but I'm starting to think that most of them are just dicks with wings."

"Now that's an interesting mental image. Thanks for sharing. Do you mind if I finish telling you what I found, I don't have a lot of time." Dean found himself smiling and Andy continued in an annoyed tone. "The Angel told Dad that an Angel named Michael plans to let the Devil loose just so he can try and kill him. Someone is actually planning to kill the Devil."

And this was not really news to Dean but he made a soft surprised sound none the less. For some reason he wanted to let Andy feel like she was helping. Sometimes Dean thought that maybe he was way too nice for his own good.

"And I… if demons are real… and now Angels and the Devil are here too, shouldn't that mean God is real as well?"

Dean got quiet again, his smile fading. He glanced at Sam who was watching him like some sort of animal in a zoo, like Dean was this fascinating creature- or at least this one side of his exchange was.

"I guess he would have to be." He admitted begrudgingly.

"But, Dean- in all this mess there's a plan to let the Devil and his hordes kill off the majority of humanity- and for some reason this seem like something that Michael really wants to happen. What if God steps in and stops them?"

"Maybe that's part of the plan too." His throat felt dry. He couldn't remember the last time his throat felt so damn dry.

"But if someone can kill the Devil, what would stop them from killing God?"

Dean had a smart mouth on him; it had been getting him in trouble for years. He had an answer for everything- everything except this. He tried anyways.

"I've had a bit of a run in with Michael and… look, kid- if it's possible to kill the Devil, it's sure as hell possible to kill an Angel. And that's what I'm planning to do." Now, this was news to Dean, he had no idea up until the moment the words left his mouth that this was his plan- but it did sound like a good one so he didn't feel inclined take it back.

"But aren't Angels supposed to be the good guys?"

"Anyone willing to kick off an apocalypse loses their good-guy card in my opinion." And people wanting to possess him or that caused head injuries and black outs- Dean considered those to be bad guys as well.

Andy got a bit quiet, processing this new information. She _harrumphed _and there were more rustling noises to follow. "I guess I can see that. I just expected things to be a little more black and white from a righteous man like yourself. You know, Angels good, Devil bad."

"What did you say?" He was pacing the room, in spite of his protesting knee and he was acutely aware that Sam was still watching his every movement.

"Angels good, Devil bad?"

"No, not that. Did you just call me a _righteous_ _man_?" The question stuck painfully in the back of his throat. He was starting to develop unique level of anxiety specific to hearing those increasingly familiar words.

"Yeah. I mean… you are… aren't you? Aren't you a righteous man, Dean?"

"I- I don't know. I try to be, I guess." Maybe he was just feeling tense. Maybe she hadn't meant anything by that very specific turn of phrase. There were days when Dean lived on the grace of 'maybes' alone.

"My brother told me once that the easiest way for evil to win is for good men to do nothing."

"That sounds about right." His head was really starting to pound and he wondered when the meds would kick in and it was difficult to remind himself to be patient.

"I think it's the only truth he ever spoke to me." More pages flipping over the phone line and her voice dropped to a whisper. "The things I've been reading, Dean. Things you wouldn't believe… and I'm afraid."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and stopped his pacing, casting his gaze up at the ceiling and trying to find the right sorts of words to comfort her. "I won't lie to you, some days things can get scary as hell. But the fear will keep you alive better than anything else. You just have to keep going and keep believing that it'll somehow be ok in the end."

"_Will_ it be ok?"

Dean laughed. "Fuck if I know."

She kind of laughed too, not that it sounded happy or anything, more of a noise of disbelief and fear. "Now don't go trying to make me feel better about all this. I wouldn't want to be disillusioned to the epic wonderfulness that is _the_ Dean Winchester and all the powers he possesses."

"It can be a bit hard to live up to all the stories." He admitted.

"And oh the stories I've heard." She sniffled and Dean got the uncomfortable notion that she might be making an effort not to cry.

He frowned and wanted to ask her exactly what she had been reading in her dad's journal that had scared her this badly - if it was somehow worse than the ideas she had already shared with him. Andy hadn't struck him as someone who actively cried over non-important things like some other girls her age might be inclined to do.

"Dean, have you ever wanted something so bad, for so long, only to finally be told you can have it- but now you don't have a fucking clue what to do with it?"

Immediately Castiel popped into the forefront of Dean's mind. His odd little smile, the warmth of him, the way that his proximity made Dean's brain shut down in pleasant increments.

"Yeah." He said softly into the receiver. It was all he had to offer to such a question. If had known how to treat these feelings maybe he would have given her advice, but honestly, she had summed it up fairly well. He didn't have a fucking clue what to do with this. With any of it really.

"Fuck." She kind of squeaked into the phone. "He knows I'm here."

Something about those words made Dean's head hurt worse and he cursed the pills he had swallowed for taking their sweet time in working. "What?" She didn't answer immediately and Dean was worried his phone had just up and died on him. "Andy, _who_ knows? Are you alright?"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Her voice was coming through the phone strangely, high and cut through with static, but it couldn't mask the fact that she sounded terrified.

"Andy, where are you?" He could hear her breathing quickly, but she did not answer him. "Damn it. Where are you?"

"Dean, there's no such thing as an innocent person." She whispered in that high, frantic way that people tended to get when they were frightened and trying to keep their voice quiet.

"Where are you?"

"Truth is beautiful, without a doubt; but so are the lies. And it's just lies. It's all lies. Don't you fucking forget it, Dean."

Dean's headache broke, and not in a pleasant way. His knees gave out and he staggered against the wall like a drunk trying to keep his footing. The pounding became a high pitched whine, a white noise that lanced through his frontal lobe and shuttered down through his body, making each breath he took feel like a cattle prod between his ribs. He dropped his phone, pressing his hands to his eyes and struggling to keep from being laid out on the unwelcoming floor.

Sam was at his side, grabbing his arm and saying something that came out insubstantial and forgettable.

Sam's words were a lost cause through the cloud of pain, but somehow Dean managed to still hear Andy's voice ringing against his ear as if he had not already released the phone that should have contained it."I'll come to you. If you're serious about killing him, I have something that might help."

And then it was all gone. The ringing, the crushing pain and the young girl's voice.

As his vision cleared he saw his brother looming over him, sort of pinning him to the wall with one shoulder, heaving frantic breaths, sweat shining on his face.

"Dean?" The name was more of a question, like Sam wasn't sure who he was addressing.

"What did you do, Sam?" He didn't mean to sound ungrateful, really he didn't. Dean had a feeling that Sam had just done something dramatically heroic or at least quite badass- but it was more of a blur to the older Winchester than a proper understanding of events.

Sam grinned in answer, and it looked a little violent. "Before they left for ice cream Gabriel wrote down an exorcism for me. You know, just in case." He helped Dean sit on the bed and for some reason he still had not lost that faintly manic smile.

"You feeling ok, Sammy?" Dean was rubbing his face, relishing in the fact that he could breath, but also feeling strange about being the one to ask if someone was ok- his own personal current aches and pains feeling highly important.

"Yeah." Sam made a visible effort to get his face under control. "I just didn't- it feels a lot different than casting out a demon."

"Don't look so happy about it. You'll fucking give me nightmares."

"Sorry." Sam ran a hand through is hair, trying to play it cool, but Dean could still see the hum of excitement running through him.

He clamored to his feet, wincing at the stiffness that had failed to leave body and the perverse throb in his knee. "I'm going to take a shower." He was forced to push Sam's hands aside and he moved to help.

"You going to be ok?" Sam remained hovering, hands still held out like he expected Dean to suddenly collapse or something else overly theatrical.

"Hell no. But I'll shout if I feel anyone poking around in my head again."

He turned the faucet on as hot as it would go and didn't properly shower so much as he leaned against the wall and let the water cascade over his knee which was bruised a myriad of interesting colors.

Andy's words were still ringing in his ears, and maybe he should talk to someone about that- about her. He looked at his hands and they were shaking.

'_I have something that might help' _

Those had been the last things she said into the midst of the pain that had tried to take him out and he would have bet money that he had dropped his phone before those words reached him.

Timing was everything and the pills he had taken had started to spread a cottony fluff over his thoughts. Dulling everything, taking the edge off his anxiety, and the fear he felt welling in his gut- even the shadows cast about by the bathroom's one yellow bulb looked softer to his tired eyes. And when he looked at his own shadow cast against the pale blue tiled wall, he still saw two of the fuckers leaning casually beside him- and he smiled at them.

And maybe it was just the pills, but he was suddenly struck with the impression that one of them was smiling back.


	18. Chapter 18

Dean tried to hide his surprise that Rapid City would have so many tattoo parlors to choose from. South Dakota had never struck him as a place that needed so many ink shops. He always sort of related the state with Bobby - which was to say he though it mostly consisted of back woods and crotchety old militia-type men. Come to think of it, Dean had never had much reason to go on hunts in either of the Dakotas. Bobby tended to keep the area clean on his own. It was disconcerting to realize that there were actually parts of the States that he didn't know like the back of his hand, or that he'd simply overlooked all together.

Gabriel had been the one to pick the location, because honestly Dean didn't care. Subsequently they ended up in the parking lot of a "Fallen Angel Tattoo", which the little blond assured Dean was not only a sign, but also ironic and absolutely hilarious.

But truth be told, Dean was having a difficult time finding any amusement in their current situation.

It had been a long drawn out argument (masquerading as a conversation) all the way from Columbus to Rapid City, the two Angels arguing over what would be the best way to keep Dean safe from any potential non-demonic possessions. Cas had ended the argument by scribbling a complicated looking design, which sort of reminded Dean of a sun, onto the back of a napkin found in the glove box.

Then had come the arguing from Dean- but half an hour later they were at the tattoo parlor, its neon sign reflecting red and blue on the rain spattered windshield of Sam's car.

Sam kept insisting that he should just man up and do it. "Stop being a baby, Dean. If it keeps you safe I don't see the harm in it."

And maybe Dean wouldn't mind it so much in the scheme of things. He certainly had far worse marks on his body to show from his exciting life of violence and variation.

"It's my skin." He insisted, running his hands along the strap of his seatbelt, looking in the rearview mirror at how Cas was slumped into the backseat beside Gabriel. The younger Angel had been sleeping for the past forty miles of their drive and the subsequent fifteen minutes that they had been sitting in the parking lot arguing as the rain pattered down.

"And it's your brain that someone's trying to bash in so they can get possession of that fine Winchester ass of yours." Gabe chimed in from the backseat. He leaned forward, clinging to the back of Sam's headrest, fingertips toying with his boyfriend's shirt collar. "Michael will gut you given half a chance. He will carve out your soul and make a comfy new home for himself."

"I get the idea." Dean grumbled.

"No, I don't think you do. He wants you to be his _sword,_" and the word sounded almost dirty when Gabriel said it. "A righteous man to be his weapon in slaying the Devil. Human bodies aren't meant to house the presence of Angels. It doesn't matter if he thinks you're his chosen vessel or if you actually are. He's an Archangel and being in his presence will tear your fragile human soul into a thousand little pieces and all the king's horses and all the king's men won't be able to put you back together again."

"Gabe?" Sam reached up and touched his boyfriend's hand. "I've been wondering… the journal- it says that Angels don't have physical forms that humans can see."

"It's true." Gabriel grinned to himself. "If you tried to look at one of us in our true form, outside of a human vessel, our grace would burn your eyes right out your pretty face."

"Then why can we see you?" Dean asked suddenly, seeing the question in his brother's eyes, knowing that that was where Sam was getting to in his own careful way.

Gabriel retracted his hand and made a face. "It's a funny story."

"Did you take a human's body when you fell from heaven?" Sam half turned in the driver's seat, looking back with a strange expression. "Did you _steal_ someone's body?"

The Angel answered with an equally unreadable look on his face. He glanced at Castiel sleeping beside him and kind of shrugged. "Like I said- funny story. Maybe I'll tell you about it one day."

It was not an answer that looked to have placated Sam in the slightest but the younger Winchester simply frowned, looking back out the windshield and said nothing.

"Aw, don't be like that, Sam." The Angel suddenly tensed and looked like he was struggling with himself before smiling brightly. "Dean will go and get himself a lovely little sigil and while he's occupied with bleeding and being all kinds of manly I can tell you how I ended up with this gloriously pointed little face of mine, and then we can make out and get the windows all steamy."

"I didn't agree to get the tattoo." Dean spoke up.

"You've already agreed to let someone take you out for a ride once." Gabriel started in a frightfully reasonable voice, as if he already knew he had won. "Michael or otherwise- they already have permission and they will come back for you. My brothers are nothing if not persistent." He smiled slowly. "Unless you were enjoying having someone banging away at your walls, looking for cracks?"

Dean opened his mouth to say something but Gabriel cut him off with a dismissive wave of a hand.

"Because even if there aren't any yet, there will be. You _will_ cave, Deano- everyone does in time. And that's something that Angels have a lot of. We can wait for the waves to whether stone to nothing more than sand, we can wait for continents to drift apart and together again, and we can wait for stars to burn out. We've got an eternity to lay siege- and what do you have? Fifty more years at least, though considering your life choices and how you eat, I would say more like twenty- if that. My brother will keep bashing away at your walls and even you, the great _Dean Winchester_ will crumble. Either through time or an offer you can't refuse- you _will_ give in. Everyone does."

"You're right." Dean threw his hands up. "Sure. It's just a fucking seal permanently printed on my skin. I don't know why I'm being so damn difficult about it." He dug into a pocket and found his pill bottle, shaking out more of the little yellow tablets and swallowing them down. "If you'll stop fucking bothering me about it- fine." He unbuckled his seat belt, muttering quietly under his breath, "you feathery, racist, little goblin."

He reached back and swatted at Cas' knee, watching the Angel stir slightly, his dark lashes parting as he opened his eyes. "We've stopped?" His voice was sleep thick and slow.

"Yeah and apparently I'm getting a tattoo to keep your brother from trying to jump my bones." He opened his door to the cool rain. "Come on. I need to get something to eat first."

.:.

"You sure this is gunna' work?" Dean asked quietly. He had not meant to whisper, but he was doped up on what felt like enough pain killers to sedate a full grown mountain gorilla and it was something of a miracle that he was even awake- much less capable of forming logical and reasonable questions, so he tried not to worry too much if he was whispering like a five year old telling secrets on the playground- when in fact they were walking down a sidewalk narrowly avoiding puddles, slowly making their way back to the car and the tattoo parlor.

Cas looked up from the cherry slushy that Dean had bought him at the Circle K down the block, his lips stained a flamboyant red and Dean was reminded of when he had been a kid and any candy that changed the color of your mouth had been highly desirable. And where as red was fun and all, the holy grail of candy stains had always been blue… he found himself wishing that he had bought a slushy for himself and the two of them could drink until they got brain freezes then stick their tongues out at each other and compare the abnormal colors. Sam was too 'grown up' to do that sort of thing, but Dean had a feeling that Cas would go along with it.

"It is a sigil much like the ones I have been drawing on you. Though much stronger and not for hiding you so much as sealing you off. It is something considerably less than holy and I will most likely find myself in a great deal of trouble for even knowing it, much less writing it down and giving it to you... under the current circumstances." Cas paused to lick at the sweetness lingering at the corners of his mouth, showing the bright red tip of his tongue. "But as I was never specifically told _not_ to give it to you I am not technically defying my brother."

Dean didn't really care for what was being said to him. Cas was making it sound an awful lot like he was doing something bad for helping Dean remain un-possessed by Michael. And considering the fact that Dean had his suspicions that Cas might have been kicked down to Earth for the express purpose of helping Michael to get a hold of the eldest Winchester, it didn't bode well in saying whose side Cas was currently on.

Maybe Sam had something. He had tried, in his passive aggressive way, to say that the Angel might not be hanging around to help them. And Dean, who was only stupid on his days off, couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't some truth in that. He knew Cas wasn't here to be his pal, that the Angel was following some orders passed down from some asshole up in Heaven, and whatever those unspeakable orders might be were not exactly for the benefit of mankind, or at least not for proposed vessels- because no matter how you cut it, being a new suit for an Archangel or the Devil himself was not a good deal.

But Dean had started to fool himself, just little lies under his breath, that Cas had changed his mind. That he had decided to side with the humans and not the bastards who made him cough blood anytime he tried to share the secret code or whatever.

And it really was stupid when he thought about it. Why would Cas want to help them? If helping meant possibly being stuck down here with the humans and never getting his angelic mojo back- it was in Cas' best interest to play by Michael's rules, to do whatever he had been told to do, it would be worth it if it meant that he could go home. Heaven had to be better than down here. Dean had to believe that- and if he had to do that much, he had to admit that it was only fair that Cas would do his part to get back.

It wasn't something that Dean could blame him for.

It's not like Dean wanted to be here either.

He took a swig of the Pepsi he had bought down at the Circle K and sighed. He should just be grateful of the subterfuge, and take what little help he could get in the matter- and hope that Cas wouldn't get in too much trouble for it.

"So… it'll just _seal_ me off, hu? Is it gunna' hurt?" Not that impending pain was much of a worry at this point so much as it was a promise- Dean just wanted to know if he should be bracing himself.

"I do not believe so, though any Angel attempting to breach the seal should find themselves in considerable amounts of pain."

"_Breach the seal_? You don't use a word like _breach_ unless you're talking about ship hulls or the security system of Fort Knox."

"I do not understand that reference, but if you wish me to rephrase I can." He scrunched up his brow and frowned at Dean, offering new words that were fairly unnecessary because the first phrasing had been clear enough. "No Angel should be able to penetrate the vessel wearing the seal."

The word _penetrate_ was actually far worse than _breach_ and Dean had to struggle not to laugh.

"Well, so much for my sex life." He couldn't hold back a chuckle, and he was sure that Cas heard him, because he did that head tilty thing and narrowed his eyes in a way that said he didn't quite understand.

"It should have no effect on your ability to copulate."

Dean laughed even though his chest was tight and most movements only served to remind him how much he hurt under the cloud of pain killers, it was still good to have a reason to laugh. "Cas, no offense here, but do you even know _how_ to copulate?" The word felt foreign but he sort of enjoyed it and the awkward look Cas gave him in response.

"I have never had occasion." He sipped at his drink, eyes trained on the ground rolling out beneath his feet. "Though I have a rudimentary understanding of the basics involved in the act."

Dean laughed again and tried to stifle the noise into his Pepsi.

"I have no doubt that you will fill in the holes of my understanding when the time comes." Cas looked at him sideways, all depthless blue and unfathomably trusting. Apparently Cas had been making plans as well, the same sort of plans that kept Dean up at night. The sort of plans that Angels probably were not allowed to make.

Dean kind of choked on his drink and ended up with a mouthful of sticky brown cola down the front of his shirt, which sort of sucked. And not because he really liked this particular one, but he didn't exactly have any other clean shirts and he wasn't sure when they would be swinging by a laundry mat.

"That is that something you want, right?" Cas looked up at him curiously, the innocence in his face completely misplaced.

Dean remembered to breathe and he quickly looked around to see if there was anyone within hearing range of their conversation- but even after the light rain had let up it seemed that most humans had the better sense to stay indoors and out of the chill.

Cas arched a brow and tilted his head, waiting for the answer.

"I haven't …" Dean shook his head and started over again, still in his rough whisper. "Look, you ask a guy if he wants to have sex and he's going to say yes. Generally speaking, it's in the manual."

The Angel's eyes sparkled. "Including you?" He pressed.

"I'm a guy," Dean said. "So yes." Then he frowned, thinking about it. "But we shouldn't-"

"Oh." Castiel's eyes dimmed a little and he looked deep into the unnatural red within his plastic cup.

"Don't do that, Cas. You didn't let me finish." He rubbed at his mouth with the back of a hand and was surprised to feel a smile. "This is just really not a good time to have this talk." He wasn't sure if there was ever a good time for this sort of talk- but if there was it was definitely not on the eve of his third angelic exorcism. He felt like he was falling apart and he doubted if he had the mental agility to keep up even a conversation of this nature.

"But you still want to touch me." It didn't come off as a question so much as it sounded like some kind of self reassurance.

"All the time." Dean assured with a subdued laugh. Dimly he knew it had to mostly be blamed on the pain killers, but he was grinning and blushing. An unwilling blush that made his ears burn, and he was really glad that there wasn't anyone around to see it.

"Well, that's a relief. I was not looking forward to finding someone else. This body has needs that I do not seem to be able to satisfy on my own and no one other than you has shown an interest in helping me with them."

Then Dean was really laughing because Cas' self-evaluation moments never ceased to amuse him. "And if I said no, you would go out and find someone else- just like that?"

"There are other Winchesters," Cas had a glimmer in his eyes. "I have options."

And Cas was joking, Dean was just about positive that he was, and somehow that was even funnier. Up until that moment Dean was unaware that the Angel had a sense of humor at all. But one look at the man beside him and he was certain that it had been some attempt at a joke. Cas wore this strangely expectant expression, like he was waiting for Dean to make sense of the punch line.

"You teasing me, Cas?" Dean laughed again and he watched the man beside him relax into one of his restrained smiles.

"Sam and Gabriel have both told me that if I wish to fit in better I should try and make an attempt at humor." He toyed with his straw. "Did I do it right?"

Dean couldn't find a way to force words through his laughter so his just nodded.

.:.

It was not his first time in a tattoo parlor, all antiseptic in smell and attempting to come off as _cool_ and hip but in some way still very reminiscent of a dentist office and he wasn't exactly thrilled to be where he was. Sitting hunched forward on a backwards facing chair, getting thick dark lines imbedded in the flesh over the curve of his left shoulder blade.

He had originally wanted to put it beside the anti-demon design on his chest but the Angels quietly agreed that the two separate marks should not be side by side, that there could be a risk of interference. So there Dean sat, hugging the headrest to his bare chest and watching Sam sitting awkwardly between the two Angels on the far side of the room while a scarecrow of a man named Francesco burrowed a needle dipped in red ink into his shoulder.

Dean had gone into this knowing that it was going to hurt like hell, a needle digging in right along bone like that didn't really offer any other outcome. Francesco had even assured Dean that it would hurt like hell- but it was still mildly surprising. It wasn't a debilitating pain or anything, but it was unique unto itself.

He made small talk with the tattooist and god, but he hated small talk.

_Was the tattoo anything special?_ Oh, not really, just something he had been meaning to get since college. Saw it in a text book about tribal cultures.

_You boys from around here? _ No, he and his brother and their friends were on a road trip, coming cross country to visit their uncle out East. Yeah, it was weird timing to get a tattoo, but he had the money so why the hell not.

Dean lied as easily as taking a breath- only maybe a little easier than that since his chest still felt tight since the incident back in Columbus.

He couldn't really hear what the others were talking about, their words got sort of muddled in wail of a guitar riff from the iPod docked on the nearby counter. Gabriel was laughing and Sam was wearing that dopey smile of his that Dean had not seen since his little brother had been dating Jess back at Stanford. And maybe it didn't matter that Dean thought Gabriel was an asshat, as long as he made Sam smile like that…well, there were certain personality flaws that Dean could overlook in his brotherly mercy and wisdom.

"Everything ok over there, Sammy?" Dean hated being left out.

"We're fine." Sam grinned. "You hanging in there?"

Dean nodded that he was fine and he looked down at his hands where he was white knuckling it, and tried to relax. He still firmly told himself that it didn't hurt _that_ bad, but it was a droning pain to match the electronic buzz of the gun and it had been going on for almost half an hour. It was wearing on him, ebbing away at the pain killers and just becoming something of a numb ache that hugged the length of his spine.

Cas pulled himself up from the line of low chairs and came over to stand before Dean, peering curiously over his shoulder.

"Hey, Cas." Dean smiled, just oddly happy to be close. And yeah… maybe that was a bit weird, but that weirdness didn't lessen the warmth he felt inside.

"You're bleeding." Cas noted almost sagely.

And Francesco answered before Dean could. "They always bleed a bit. It's nothing to worry about."

"Blood will make the sigil stronger." The Angel replied with an air of confidence.

Dean attempted not to laugh, because it didn't matter how much Cas looked like a normal person- whenever he spoke he sort of advertised the fact that he was very much not anything at all like normal.

Cas took a step closer, looming over Dean's seated position as he watched the tattoo forming in short, dully painful lines. He was close enough that if Dean leaned forward anymore he could probably bite the Angel's stomach and that was a though that made the ache in his shoulder considerably less important to him.

There wasn't much he could do in his current position that didn't scream GAY, and out here things like that weren't exactly widely accepted. So Dean did nothing other than close his eyes and enjoy the smell of his friend- all fresh rain and nature and artificial cherry flavoring. Dean regretted not getting a kiss in at some point since the convenience store, knowing that the lingering sweet taste would have faded from Cas' lips by the time they get out of here. Oh well.

After a few more long moments of Dean's steady breathing and the drone of the needle buzzing away like a furious bee, he heard Cas make a strange noise. Just a soft sort of clicking in the back of his throat, quiet enough that it was unlikely that anyone else would have heard it.

He opened his eyes, blinking into the florescent shop lights to look up at the Angel only inches from his face.

Cas was watching Francesco working, he was watching Dean bleeding and he was sort of swaying on the spot, rhythm-less and a little erratic in his slow drifting movements.

Dean stayed quiet for a second, not sure if Cas was about to fall over or it this was a weird version of dancing to the music that was playing loudly nearby. "Hey, you alright?"

The Angel listed to the right, head cocked as if he was listening carefully to something only he could hear. Faintly he shook his head, but Dean had no way of knowing if this was meant as an answer or something else all together.

"Cas?" Dean must have sounded more worried than he intended because Francesco stopped the monotonous buzzing of his gun and sat back, giving Dean the leeway to move if he needed.

And Gabriel was suddenly there, not much taller than sitting Dean, taking hold of his younger brother's arm and pulling him gently towards the doors.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean was halfway off his chair, fighting down something that felt an awful lot like fear.

"It's just low blood sugar." Gabriel said over his shoulder. "I've got some skittles out in the car. Don't worry." And it didn't matter that the Angel was smiling, Dean had a sinking suspicion that he was being lied to.

"You wanna take a break?" Francesco asked in a kind way behind him, gently worried about the strangers in his shop.

"Yeah, I-"

"Dean, stay." Gabriel kept his smile in place but there was a strongly commanding presence in his words that Dean wasn't sure if he could to argue with. Sure he _wanted_ to argue, he wanted to tell the blonde to shut his big mouth and that he wasn't just going to sit around on his ass while his friend had some sort of episode… but there was something in Gabriel's expression, in his eyes- something which required to be left unchallenged. He wasn't telling Dean to stay out of something; he was demanding that he finish something.

He wanted Dean to finish up the sigil.

Gabriel was trying to keep him safe, which was laughable, because self preservation had never once been a priority of Dean's.

Sam got up. "I'll go with them." He offered, and his face showed the worry that Dean was trying to keep to himself.

Dean nodded slowly, not that he liked this as a solution and he really didn't see how leaving him alone was going to do any good for anyone, but he sat back down and watched through the windows as Cas was lead out to the parking lot.

_He'll be fine_. Dean tried to reassure himself. For all he knew Cas really did just need to eat- but that didn't make sense mainly because Dean knew that they had both just eaten. Perhaps Cas was getting a call from home? Dean wasn't sure how heaven was communicating with its Angels downstairs. Dean wasn't sure about a lot of things.

"Just go ahead I guess." He tried to sound confident like always, but he wasn't sure how good of a job he was doing.

"It's almost done." Francesco offered like a comfort. And he was a good man for not asking too many questions. Dean wished he met more men like the tattooist; men who didn't want to get involved. Being nosy never helped anyone.

And before the tattoo gun could buzz back to life Dean's phone went off in his pocket. So few people had his number and those who did knew not to call unless it was an emergency.

_Cas_, Dean thought with a sudden desperation. What if Sam was calling him from just outside because there was something _very_ wrong with Cas.

"Sorry, dude. I've got to take this." He apologized, fishing the phone from his pocket.

He saw Francesco shrug it off and get up, "No worries, man. I could use a little break- check my emails." And he stretched his long arms and grabbed up an energy drink from the counter before walking to the other side of the shop to poke at a computer behind a desk, giving Dean some space.

That was all sort of background to Dean, his eyes were fixed on the little screen of his phone and he was frowning.

It wasn't his brother calling.

Andy's name was displayed in tiny green letters, flashing impatiently at him. Dean very clearly remembered last time they spoke and if he noticed his hands shaking just a little he chocked it up to his arms being tired and nothing more.

He was half tempted to not answer. The last two phone calls with her had ended in what would best be described as exciting amounts of pain. But she was a kid and he couldn't just leave her hanging, not if she needed his help.

"Yeah?" He kept his voice nice and level, even and unworried.

"I don't have a lot of time, Sam'll be back soon-"

"Excuse me?" And Dean was off his seat, looking out the window, trying to see if she was standing somewhere out in the grey rain- because there was no other explanation he could think of for how she could possibly know where Sam was.

"Just shut up and listen to me. Don't finish that tattoo. Tell the guy no thanks or whatever the fuck you need to, but get out of there."

"Where are you, Andy? What's going on?"

"If he finishes it you'll be off limits. Nobody in and nobody out until the seal is broken- do you understand what I'm saying?"

"What's going on?"

"The sacrifices required to break that seal aren't ones you're prepared to make, Dean."

"I don't want to break it-"

"I'm not here to argue. You have to listen to me. You need to get out of here before Michael finishes with your boyfriend- we're running out of options and time."

And even if she was outside, or in a nearby store, watching through the windows, there was no explanation that Dean could come up with to make this ok. He didn't know what was going on, and he was really getting tired of it. The only thing he was sure of was that this was wrong. Wrong like seeing his own hand writing in a journal he had never written in.

"Where are you?" Dean found he was sort of snarling, baring his teeth and his hands were aching for a weapon of some kind. He couldn't tell if he was furious or terrified, but it was a deep, black feeling welling up in him, churning and horrible.

"If you're serious about killing Michael you have to stop this. Don't let that guy finish the sigil."

Dean's thoughts were reeling. If he didn't finish the sigil it meant he was wide open to possession by the Archangel. Andy was telling him to leave himself open. She wanted him to stay vulnerable.

He didn't know how she knew about the tattoo, but he realized that he didn't need to.

If it were possible for him to be possessed by an Angel, wasn't it possible that someone like Andy could be taken as well? As far as he could tell a host was a necessity for those feathery bastards to walk and talk down here.

And it didn't matter what anyone said, Dean wasn't a righteous man. He was a decent guy, no mistake about that- but _righteous_?

It was an insane accusation.

Maybe he had the best of intentions; maybe he saved a few people and sent some demons back to hell. But in the face of all that, he was a liar. He cheated, he stole, he killed, he fornicated, he drank- and from what little he understood about the Bible, he sort of embodied everything that mankind had been warned against. And if somehow in someone's fucked up score book he was still counted as a 'righteous' man, a man clean enough to be a vessel for an Angel- who was to say that a little girl, who had probably never done anything worse than maybe getting a bad grade on a test, wasn't worthy as well?

Dean was suddenly very sure that he wasn't talking to Andy. It didn't matter that she used the girl's quiet, clipped way of speaking- the kid he had met didn't know what was going on any more than he did. She was a bit rough around the edges, but she was uncertain and afraid- and none of that came through in the words Dean was hearing.

"Who _is_ this?" He said carefully, making sure she heard each word clearly.

She made a frustrated noise wrapped in a sigh, like she had somehow followed his silent train of thought and knew exactly what he meant but didn't care in the slightest. "We don't have time for this, Winchester! I've got a sword for you. It can kill an Angel, but it won't be pretty. You need to take it. We're running out of time."

"I don't want your damned sword."

"I'm trying to help you, you jackass."

And Dean had the strangest feeling that she was pacing. He couldn't see her or hear her. But it was like he could feel her movements, feel each agitated step like they were his own.

"I've been trying to help you this whole time, Dean. Don't go all paranoid on me now. Get out of this shop- get away from the Angels- somewhere far away, somewhere safe- but not Bobby's. Go to the woods or the lake- or the fucking middle of the freeway for all I care. Just get away from the others." Then she made a vile suggestion, "you're not safe with them- you can't trust them. I'll give you the sword. You can kill Michael and end this before it goes to hell."

"Look, I don't know who I'm talking to, and I'm only going to say this once, so listen closely. I don't want or need your help. And if you don't get the hell out of Andy, when this is all over I will hunt you down and tear you apart, feather by feather. Do you understand?"

"You insufferable son of a bitch. Can't you get it through your thick head that I'm trying to help you?"

He hung up, clapping the phone shut and practically storming back over to the chair he had so recently vacated. "Hey, can we finish this up?"

Francesco shrugged and came back over, pulling on a pair of blue latex gloves and sitting down behind Dean.

And Dean knew that the man had probably been listening to the half of a conversation he had dramatically been putting on. He also knew that the guy probably didn't appreciate the impatient tone of voice that Dean was using. But Dean was mad, and a little freaked out by the talk he had with the non-Andy. He wanted to get the sigil finished as soon as possible.

There was no real way to tell for sure, nothing to base the notion off of, but Dean had a feeling that there was a clock running somewhere and they had just about reached the eleventh hour. It was an uncomfortable sensation that some dark ending was looming just over the horizon and Dean was woefully unprepared for it.

The buzzing of the gun returned as did the prickling pain along his shoulder blade and he flexed his hands, digging his fingers into the headrest like he wanted to squeeze from it some sense or reason he could apply to today.

Sam came back in along with a wash of cold air from the world outside. He took one look at Dean and obviously didn't care for the expression his big brother was wearing. "Everything ok?"

"Elias' daughter is… having some trouble with one of Michael's friends." Dean chose his words and saw that his brother understood, at least in part. "I'm gunna' take care of it, I just wanted to get this done first."

Sam walked around his brother, leaving wet boot prints on the linoleum floor. "Looks like it's almost finished."

"Just give me five minutes and it'll be perfect." Francesco said under his breath, focused on what he was doing. And Dean wasn't really looking for perfect, so much as functional, but he could appreciate the man's work ethic.

"How's Cas?" Dean looked out the window at the parking lot, just able to make out their car and the two shadowy forms sitting inside.

"He's alright." Came Sam's reply from somewhere behind Dean, and he didn't have to see his little brother's face to know what a lie that was. "He, uh, got a _phone_ call from home and he's a bit… upset now, but Gabe says he'll be fine."

Try as he might, Dean couldn't imagine Cas being upset and he was fairly sure that what Sam meant was a darker word that entailed bleeding of sorts. And Dean didn't know how, but he was very sure that he was going to kill Michael.

The problem was that the hunter had no idea how to kill an Angel. Andy had mentioned a sword, but that might have very much not been Andy making the suggestion so he couldn't put much weight in the solution. He also had the journal from her father but didn't know how much help that was going to be in the short term.

However, Dean happened to be acquainted with two people who might be very knowledgeable of ways to go about killing Angels. Who better to know how to slay an Angel, than an Angel?

"It's done." No one needed to make the announcement, but Francesco still did.

Before the words left the tattooist, Dean knew that the sigil was finished. He felt it searing hot, blistering against skin and bone, down into his soul or whatever it was that lived in the center of his being and helped him to move about and think and make bad decisions… maybe it was his brain not his soul. He could deal with notion- he had never had much of a belief in souls anyways.

It felt like he couldn't get enough air. His chest started to burn and the world was going black around its edges, chipping away, the pieces scattering leaving him with darkness and that horrible burning. And Cas had been a filthy liar for saying that it wouldn't hurt.

Sam's hands were cool on his arms, anchoring him, drawing him back. "Dean, you ok?"

The fire was already retreating from the surface of his skin where the ink and the blood lay, burrowing deep inside, scorching and malevolent, settling through the length of his body and he was almost sure he smelled sulfur.

"Yeah." He blinked hard, like trying to force the heat further down, to internalize it. "Just got a little light headed for a second." Lying seemed a better choice than saying that it felt like he had some holy voodoo burning all past sins from his body.

Sam let go of his arm and took a step back though the look of brotherly worry never left his face.

"You know how to take care of a tattoo?" Francesco asked, all business like, and as Dean stood on weak legs he saw the look the man was giving the two Winchesters. He was watching them in the same way that you watch a drunk who you are waiting to become violent.

Dean couldn't really blame him. "Yeah. I got it."

The man ran over the rules anyways while he taped a bit of plastic wrap over the fresh tattoo. Keep it clean, keep it out of the sun, antiseptic good, scratching bad, and so on and so forth.

They had paid up front, so once Dean got his shirt on they were good to go.

Sam apologized to Francesco for the weirdness, Dean thanked him for the good work and then the brothers were out in the rain, the bleak drizzle feeling like ice as it drummed down around them.

"You sure you're alright, Dean?"

Dean rubbed at his nose, sneezing, trying to get the acrid stink out. "Do you smell sulfur?"

Sam was getting his keys out but he stopped, stopped walking all together and really looked at Dean. "No… do you?"

"_Christo_." Dean said cautiously, not sure what he was expecting.

And Sam just blinked wet hair from his eyes. "Are you serious? You think I'm possessed?"

"I don't know, man. I'm- you sure you can't smell it?"

As if intending to win the most uncomfortably awkward brother of the year award, Sam leaned down, real close to Dean's face, hardly a breath apart- and he sniffed.

"Dude!" Dean pushed him away, hard. "What's wrong with you?"

Sam chuckled. "I don't smell anything, Dean." He unlocked the car. "You look like hell, but you don't smell like it. Now come on, you can sleep in the car."

"Who says you get to keep driving?" Dean moved around to the driver's side, following his brother half heartedly. He was doing his best to keep up appearances, but honestly sleep sounded really good.

They could both laugh and joke, but truth was they were both tired (and more than a little worried about all the bad suddenly coming their way) and it manifested in Sam with a glaring lack of humanity. He kicked out at Dean's injured knee, not hard- but it didn't have to be.

"Son of a bitch." Dean swore and leaned against the wet car for support.

"I noticed you limping. What, did you dislocate it or something?"

"Yes, but I put it back." He said through his teeth, glaring up at Sam who wore a strangely compassionate expression.

"You can hardly walk, Dean. You're not driving."

"I _was_ walking just fine, you little bitch."

"Jerk." Sam said automatically. "Now get in the shotgun seat and give me directions to get from here to South Bend."

Dean limped around the front of the car. "South Bend…in Indiana?" He was mentally running maps in his mind, thinking of the closest city with that name. "What the fuck's in Indiana?"

"Gabe needs to go to the Notre Dame University library."

"I'm sure there's a library here. Hey, Bobby's got a ton of books and he's a hell of a lot closer than South Bend. I'm sure we can find what he's looking for between here and fucking Indiana."

Sam just smiled and got in. "We can stay the night at Bobby's. I'm sure he'll let us. But in the morning I think we should head out."

Dean settled into his seat, glancing over his shoulder to see Castiel sleepily eating a bag of Skittles. There was a smear of browning blood between his nose and lip and a little on the left side of his mouth. Dean couldn't help but think that the blood must make the candy taste awful, but it didn't seem to bother the Angel.

Gabriel was not sitting beside his little brother.

Gabriel was not in the car.

Dean frowned. "Where'd your brother go?"

Cas looked up from his crinkly back of candy and his left pupil was blown wide, making his whole eye look black. He blinked and then slowly looked back at his candy, raising another piece to his mouth with a hand that trembled ever so slightly.

"What happened?" Sam half turned in his seat, immediately looking very worried.

"The war… is going badly." Cas said in a slow, almost drugged voice, no emotion behind it. "The war is always going badly." And Dean knew shock when he saw it, and it was almost comforting to see that it looked the same in Angels as it did in humans.

"What happened, where's Gabe?" Sam was almost crawling between the seats to get back there though Dean wasn't sure what good that would do anyone.

Cas slowly looked up again and held out his bag of candy to Dean, a silent offering. "Gabriel decided to go home."

Dean didn't take any of the Skittles. "What do you mean 'home'?"

"Michael spoke to me. He-" Cas paused, examining the blood stains on his fingernails like he was seeing them for the first time. "I used to be much stronger. Not stronger than Gabriel but- but I was never this _weak_. And now… now I'm useless." He started to sound a little more drunk than drugged, slurring just slightly, but at least there was emotion behind it, annoyed and a little self mocking.

Sam glanced at Dean, silently asking if this was making any kind of sense. Dean shrugged and his shoulder sang with pain at the movement.

Sam frowned deeper and looked back at Cas. "Is Gabriel ok?"

Cas upturned his bag, shaking out the last few pieces of candy. "He told me that these taste like a rainbow." He looked up at the brothers in the front seat and through the expression of shellshock that he wore so beautifully there was something close to panic behind his eyes. "He left because of me- because I insisted that he pick a side. And now he's gone and I don't know when I will get the chance to tell him that these taste nothing like a rainbow. They're absolutely awful."

"Cas," Sam voice took on a note of warning, his patience wearing thin in the face of the fact that his boyfriend was very suddenly very gone. "Is Gabriel ok?"

The lone Angel made a complicated sound, strangled cough like regret and loneliness. "I don't know." He never looked up from his dirty hands where he held them open over his knees, staring down into the brightly colored bits of sugar as if they might give him answers.

Sam made a frustrated sound and wore his best bitch-face but Cas just quietly ate the rest of his candy.

"Just drive, Sammy. I don't think we should stay here." Dean opened his door, got out and slid into the backseat. It wasn't that he was big on comfort or cuddles or anything like that, but he really didn't feel that he had any right to be sitting up in the front seat while his friend sat alone in the back and fell apart. Cas didn't look at him but when Dean took his hand the Angel twined their fingers together with surprising strength.

"Dean, I can't just _leave._ What if Gabe comes back?"

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, rallying whatever force of will left to him, because Sam said _if_, not _when_ and that spoke volumes more than his younger brother had intended.

"He went _home_, Samuel. Not for a walk." Cas spoke hollowly. "When he returns, he will return to you, regardless of where you are. You two share a connection." And he squeezed Dean's hand and Dean was at a loss as to how he should interpret that.

Sam slowly turned in his seat, giving them his back and gripping the steering wheel until his knuckled turned white. Dean said nothing because he knew his brother well enough to see that Sam needed a moment to pull himself together. The car drowned in the sound of the rain falling over them, just a soft white noise mingling with their breaths and the silence. Finally Sam looked into the rearview mirror and stared Dean down. "Ok. We'll go to Bobby's. We can make a plan in the morning."

And it took Dean up until that moment to realize that Sam was in love with Gabriel and he wondered why it had taken him so damned long to notice. Cas leaned closer, brushing their arms together and a tangled feeling crawled through Dean as he remembered that lately he had been more than a little occupied. And yeah, maybe he should pay a bit more attention to Sam, but after a lifetime of being on top of every move his brother made, no one could really begrudge him a momentary lapse.

The car rumbled awake and they left behind the Fallen Angel, and all her inks and needles, in favor of the endless tar strip of highway- leaving behind the Black Hills and winding out through into the heart of the Badlands.

Dean didn't like any of this. He could still smell sulfur even if no one else was taking note of it. His knee was throbbing, no thanks to Sam. Something was very wrong with Andy, but there wasn't anything he could do about it right now. His insides felt like he had just drunk a half a bottle of whisky, all burning and a little sick. And most importantly, Gabriel was gone and both Sam and Cas were considerably worse for it.

In retrospect, Dean wished that he had asked what exactly Gabriel had wanted from a library out in Indiana- more out of curiosity than anything else.

The thing was, they never made it to South Bend, at least not for many years- so it was quite some time before that little curiosity was satisfied.

They never even made it past Bobby's house.

So many plans were waylaid in the late hours of that night.

So many good things turned bad before the sun ever had a chance to rise.

Faiths and loyalties gone astray.

Promises made only to be broken in the next breath.

Things like libraries just seemed to lose their sense of importance after that night.

* * *

A/N: mind you, I'm not one to beg, but as this story gets closer to its eventual end- I would like to point out that reviews sort of give me the strength to go on.

Just... just putting that one out there.

But even if you cannot find it in you to say anything in reply to this freakishly long story, know that I appreciate you coming along for the ride.

You guys are good for putting up with me.


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